© by ASJ Tessimond
Some of the finest people I have known,
The few, the fine who keep their sun at noon,
The unrefusing, the warmly living and giving,
Too gaily walk on a razor-edge of mountain
From which a sudden gust from a certain quarter
Could topple them down to darkness and destruction.
No one can save them from themselves or chance.
World, move gently
Your clumsy finger lest
So much be spoiled and lost.
Submitted by Ruth Baxendale