I looked out at the children
Marching in their school train
Linked hands
All bundled up
Against the snow
Scarfs on noses
Mittens on
Featureless miniatures
on their way again to school
And from my distance
I could not tell
From where they had come
And to what they would become
Doctors lawyers teachers
Robbers rapists killers
Success’, failures,
Victors, defeated
Those not equipped to play
Those blessed with skill,
The standouts,
The unremarkable,
Lives lived well,
Lives cut short,
Brutality,
Charmed lives,
Wealth,
Poverty.
And from my distance
It was if they were
a bag of marbles.
All the same size
Made who knew where
By who knew whom
But all glass
Many colours
Some smooth, cared for
Some chipped, abused
Some kept in the bag,
Some taken out to play
Some that would win
Played with skill
Treasured
Others lost
Carelessly, recklessly
Briefly mourned
Then forgotten.
And I wondered
As I watched them trudge
Through the snow
Who would become which
Who could alter the course of fate
God, me, us, love
Who was the passive observer
Who dared step into the line
Who had the grace
To. be the hands of Love
To reach into the bag
To treasure even the chipped
Even the drab, clouded
To see within
the image of their creator