(September 8, 2025)

Presenting the sorrow of ages,
    laid as a gift at your feet,
the searching of fools and of sages,
    the quests they would never complete.

Presenting the sorrow of ages,
    dumped with despair in your path,
the letters with unending pages,
    the writings of toil and of wrath.

Presenting the sorrow of ages,
    held up with grief to your face,
the anguish of people in cages,
    the millions without home or place.

Presenting the sorrow of ages,
    we kneel while holding our breath;
you’ve seen as we’ve gone through its stages,
    from crying, to dying, to death.

“I welcome the sorrow of ages,”
    he said as we knelt at his feet.
“I’ve comfort for fools and for sages
    embraces both simple and sweet.”

“I welcome the sorrow of ages,”
    he said as we searched his lined face,
“I’ve stayed with you all in your cages,
    reached out in every dark space.”

“I welcome the sorrow of ages,”
    he whispered, gentle as breath,
“I, too, have been through its stages
    of crying, and dying, and death.”

“Yes, give me the sorrow of ages,”
    his voice, nearly silence, caressed,
“I’ve folded you into forever;
    exhale in this darkness and rest.”