KNEES:

On African corn crumpled knee, she does the ever ancient deed,

Of planting in the shallow drought, the single arid-stunted seed,

Hoping that this little grain of hope will not turn to sickly weed.

The child weeping in the lonely corner on knees castigated,

By the cruel cold floor and the even colder stare, berated,

By stern tutor & other kids, not knowing why he´s so hated.

The woman scrubbing on housemaid´s knees red and raw,

To eke out meagre cents, for her family to have a bit more,

Her knees may creak, bleed & hurt, but it´s her heart that´s sore.

The soldier far away, on bended knee weeps silent manly tears,

One hand on his gun, the other on the body of dead friend of years,

“Why this bloody war?” he asks, “filling us with pointless bullets & fears”.

The beggar on his grubby knees cracked with hard pavement´s cold,

Besides him, his empty begging bowl and his shivering dog tired and old,

Doffing his hat & says, “A penny for one of life´s loser sir, may I be so bold?”

The black-habited nun at vespers, genuflecting to her silent God above,

Praying for forgiveness of a sinless life, and for the world she asks for love,

And for a peace that goes far beyond the wings of the gentle peaceful dove.

The Hindu, the Muslim, the Pagan, Buddhist, Sikh, Taoist and many more,

All on bended knees in temples, mosques, pagodas & upon deep forest floor,

For it is upon our humble knees that we adore and to our Deities we implore.