Empathy is a problem I have.
It’s like having big ears
or a crooked nose.
I once picked up a dead mouse
in my yard. Or a baby squirrel.
His eyes hadn’t opened yet.
So he saw nothing of the world
before he died.
Or she.
I cried for a day with invisible
tears. Grieving I think.
But I said nothing to anyone.
For then it would be like
getting pinned with sharp
scorns from classmates while
encircled on a playground.
Only now, any listener
would simply launch a thought:
My, what an odd fellow.
-by Lyman Ditson