Five intersecting rings

Five unconnected dots

Yellow or is it gold, for the boy who sprinted

To the rescue of his infant sister, mangled in a mine field

A blue dot for the doctor in rural China

He closed the holes in thousands of blue baby hearts—turning them whole again

Black is the dot for the thriving favela terraced upon the ridge

squinting down upon the venues: It seethes with life; oozes with waste—it percolates hope

A green dot is the rain forest

It is the sea

It is oxygenating diversity–the matron of the spirit

Five intersecting rings

Then a dot

© Richie Smith