even things they never touched,
got no closer than fifty yards.
Black streaks generously relocate,
a lighter surface draws gleeful rubbing.
Coal marks float through air
while peaceful colors — beauty —
stays put.
Grace and peace have much to share
with bitterness, resentment, hate...
But why does the transfer never work?
Why do negatives always convert
positives, never yield to the light of hope.
As you offer service find ways
to replenish the good, restoring
what curmudgeons scrape off.
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