Some matters press against the lining of my weary soul. Injustices and inequities abound.
See how the children grow, sweetly innocent, casting about for our undivided attention?
All that the summer child gains, proud accomplishments, another child holds greater
Grace within the sacred sphere. You ignored the offerings of the summer born,
Shrugged aside her efforts. Pierced my heart with your words. Sharp and condescending.