What indeed is the greater miracle?
To lay my hands on a stricken child
and breathe Light and dream’s melody
to blend with tortured spirit now content?
Or allow an aging man to release
his sorrowed grief into my midwife arms,
and walk ever on with a lighter step?
Or that another trusts and loves enough
to tell me my presence surely helped,
even when they perceived nothing at all,
but then find they have cured themselves,
for fear of disappointing my quiet heart?
Or that a girl laughs at my whistled joy,
and grows to skip around adversity,
and never becomes sad or ill at all?
Thankfully I will not be called to choose,
for these found things make up my gifted day.