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Poem

Back to the jungle once again
A long journey has come to an end
Over the clouds, through the hills
and down the river I have came
Everything is a little different
But somewhat the same
 
Here lie a people that used to be slaves
It was on this river they made their escape
Here they built houses of wood and stone
And created a place they could call their own
They make their living off the land
By the work of many strong hands
 
They have built this vibrant community
That my eyes have been privileged to see
By a glance all I may see is poverty
By a closer look, I now see true beauty
And not merely the endless scenery
or the luscious foliage and greenery
 
But in the people I have come to serve
And in turn who I have let serve me
In ways it feels, I truly don’t deserve
So listen closely, let me tell you a story
 
Mothers and daughters down by the water
Beating laundry with paddles, the sun grows hotter
I approach with my boots covered in junk
I place them in the water with a soft plunk
 
I attempt to remove the thick red clay  
she takes them from me and washes away
She scrubs until there is no sign
of any speck of dirt or grime
 
Thank you very much is all I can say
I now ponder would I do the same?
If the situation were reversed
Do I really believe the first will be last
And the last will be first?
 
Can I honestly say that I would choose
to take the grimy, muddy, dirty shoes
of a foreigner I hardly even know?
Would I humble and bring myself low?
In all honesty I really don’t know
 
But therein lies the true beauty, 
I now see
Amidst what appears by a glance,
 to be poverty
So don’t merely judge by what you see,
 but believe
that beyond the poverty,
 there may be
A true beauty, yet to be seen

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