Can you really savor the sweetness of strawberry jam 
or nightingale song while in war torn places, silence 
is shattered by bomb-blast and wind-fire, mothers 
carry their babies in pieces, seek a moment of hush 
as ghosts weave shrouds around them and sigh?

Can you delight in treasures at a flea market, enjoy 
the soft grass blanket inviting you to rest on a 
peaceful Sunday while a father searches ten days 
for his child’s head, a five-year-old digs beneath the 
rubble for her uncle; only a shoe and foot remain?

Can you relish your afternoon meal of lamb and 
sweet potatoes, blueberry pie, vanilla ice cream 
while a six-year-old boy trades his baseball for a 
small bag of flour, his pen for an orange; a hungry 
toddler cries and clutches her legless doll?

Can you appreciate life’s comforts, the gifts you 
take for granted while others have so little?  
Can you turn away because they’re someone 
else’s children, someone else’s parents? 
someone else’s problem? What if they aren’t?