When I touch…
even the dust that dances beneath wandering feet,
begins to call itself precious.
When I touch…
even the dry leaf, brittle under the faintest step,
starts to know its own worth.
When I touch…
even the frail beggar, circling door to door
for just a handful of grain,
feels its value stir quietly inside.
But when I do not touch…
even the brightest jewel,
for which life strains and stretches,
feels fragile, uncertain of its being.
