And Sister, our lives our made of water
entwined like root coil and ground swell
of the stuff that trees drink, wine of the world
swirled upward branched and twigged
in gladness of rising, ground to leaf and cloud.
The drop of rain that falls from leaf to grass
does not pass in secret, belongs to me:
is one of my shed tears for your pain.
And each leaf of each tree’s a prayer
that tells you every day I care, I care.
Judith Toy, Chan An Mon, True Door of Peace: I was asked to write this poem for a Sangha member whose sister has been diagnosed with MS.