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The Black Ravine
As early morning rays
Cascade upon my path,
I see a scar.
Its fresh and ashen skin
Shines black and gray like coal,
A cancer grown on Nature’s back.

Was it the hand of God
That gave the illness strength?
Or was it He
Who made it breathe its last?
Must Good sit back and watch?
Does Evil always have its say?

Though I can’t see Him move,
He’s active all the same.
It’s said—in love—
He does not stop our kind
From stabbing, raping, and
From striking matches in the woods.

As early morning rays
Cascade upon my path,
I see a scar,
But I can smell the fragrant scent
Of precious, orange, red,
And yellow flowers—new—in the ravine.