It is time.
The tocsin clangs and I wonder if we will answer.

Will we
rise for those who cannot stand,
speak for those unable to speak,
shout for those too frightened to be noticed?

Will we
beseech, cajole,
beg for the destitute,
chastise the greedy?

Will we
offer comfort for the homeless,
solace to the fearful,
kneel for the abandoned child?

Will we
help lift downcast eyes riveted
motionless in the shadows
by power that yearns for the past?

Will we be passionate?
Will we be decent?
Will we be true?

It is time,
and for this, I do not wonder:

There, but for the grace of God,
go us all.

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