a stairwell climbs a hill…

Its steps but vestiges of stairs

‘midst shining daffodils

In fact, to most wand’ring eyes,

its visage may not call…

So hidden is its purpose

‘neath nature’s weathered fall

Atop the hill, no statue hails,

nor landing ‘neath first rise…

An obscure path ‘twixt high and low,

its plan unrecognized

Yet, could it be that just beyond

our hurried mundane sight,

A vision calls from polished steps

‘neath ev’ning’s fading light?

“Look here!” Those daffodils exclaim

with not eyes but spirit’s touch…

“It’s here you’ll find Compassion’s trod,

left healing in His dust.”

For ‘tis not the destination

nor point of genesis,

But ev’ry careful step between

bathed in brokenness.