On my way to the gallery this morning I saw this beauty a Trumpet flower.
Why us she cried
The rain poured down on innocent lives left homeless in its wake.
While tiny ones left to defend cry loudly in the storm.
As mother nature takes control of the lives too small to notice.
While miles away in a foreign land the homeless go unheard.
While desert storms leave parched lips and children die of thirst.
As mothers lie in a desert fire with breast to dry to nurture.
And tiny ones sift in the blazing sand for food but there is none.
I listen to the voices of the rich cry out, oh god why us, why us.
Why us, I think from my safe place ,why not I asked myself.
Why should the poor only suffer, if we’re all children of God.