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What good is the sun when the flower has withered?
As it was put to the shade and forgotten…
What good is the moon when it hides its face?
At times when nights are darkest...

What good is the wind when all it does is blow so hard?
That stripped you- leaving you bare and disheveled…
What good are the rivers and streams?
When waters have stopped flowing as the soil has become parched…

What good are the hands that clasp not?
Those that know not how to cling and hold…
What good are the eyes that see not?
Those though not as brilliant are still pure gems…

But good is a heart even with jagged edges
That risks putting an imperfect piece into his
And good is a heart even with deep gouges
That risks ripping a part of his to fit into another’s