Ben

Ben

His father and his mother make the man
The man he is. We see them looking out
From his keen eyes and vulnerable face,
Grandparents too, whose portraits we have seen
Make up the picture. No-one’s out of place
Yet everyone’s unique. We do not doubt
That all Ben’s forbears come to play their part,
The artist’s healing and the healer’s art,
In making this physician. As we gaze
Compassion and determination blend
In one expression, something of strange grace
And sorrow here contend, more than a trace
Of suffering is here transmuted too,
To be redeemed in One who makes us new.