In Death's Presence - Ruchama Will Always Be Three Poem by Lewis Eron

Mercy is a sad name, Compassion is no better
Too small, too soon, but still a medical victory
Or miracle, once, but after that, a tragedy,
A taste of life, too little by any real measure,
Not much, a shadow, a glimmer of a sacred treasure
A bit of luck, and too much technology,
Some success, now caught in a narrow theology
Between life and death and an older brother
And younger sisters and a frightened father.
At times God is more flexible than humanity
Allows - a rock, a tower - stability is vanity
When God is a web, a net, a flower or feather.
Mercy's gentle source, Compassion's blessed fountain
The spring of life flows beneath God's sacred mountain