If I could just evaporate like dew,
the woes that weigh on me would cease to weigh,
and I’d not need to think of what to do
to bear them or to make them go away.
Evaporating, I’d become a mist
and join a cloud, condensing then as rain,
far from troubles, much too long to list,
splashing into puddles, free of pain.
But though, like morning dew, life may be brief,
I can’t convert my sorrows into vapor
and have to face the length and breadth of grief,
that flows, expressed as streams of ink on paper.
O, Christ, I know my problems won’t be solved
till in Your love my self has been dissolved.


Mario A. Pita

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