In the summer of 2011 my boss, a lively, big-hearted woman transplanted from Georgia, handed me a copy of this poem. I don't recall the context in which that occurred, but it seemed quite random. I read it, and again, and thanked her for it. Days later, my wife left me for the woman she was seeing. When I read this poem again, I wept (which I suppose I was doing a lot of anyway, but no matter). Since then I have often returned to it in times of difficulty, uncertainty, or conflict. But especially in sorrow.
The poem is called Kindness. The author is Naomi Shihab Nye.
[Update: For copyright purposes, I am substituting a link for a reprinting of the poem. I do hope you'll follow it.]
Kindness (http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2007/07/23)
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