Why should the hand complain
for the glove abandoned in the rain?

Why should the foot retain
the ragged shoe and call it pain?

Why should the coloured window pane
inflict on the white wall a lasting stain?

Why should the nerve-ends’ loss and gain
reach any higher than the blood-filled brain?

The mind shines down from out of sight
casting shadows on  membrane
but does not leave behind its light
or inflict on flesh a precious bane.

One arrow splits the skull in twain
but seeks to scratch the smile in vain.

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