This is a "cut and paste" posting...you may see the entire blog from which the poem is taken if you use the link to "Improving with age". This poem speaks better than I could into the situation in Belfast just now. Thanks Chris.
"The Refugee Woman and Child"
This morning I met the mother of God
As she held out her hand to say
Give me some money for my child in rags
I have asked and been turned away.
I gave her some centimes in loose change
Her eyes questioned,"Is that enough?"
And the paper money in my wallet
Is still there, richly folded up.
And now I think only of that young child
That we are nailing to a tree
"What you do to the least of my brethren,
Then, that so you do unto me".