Gently, Gently

We, too, began with joy.
Then, sickness came;
then, poverty.
We were poor, so poor,
our children were our only friends.

Gently, gently,
through anger and pain,
love justified itself,
like the nails in the house
during a storm.

Somehow, we created hope,
reliable drum
in the shadow's wrist;
a tuning fork
on the sidewalk of dreams.

- Bert Myers, The Wild Olive Tree