Just when I think I can’t fit one person more,

every tiny space filled,

from ceiling to floor.

One more soul seeking desperately to fit in

needing love and acceptance,

from a trusted friend.

My heart is full and is sure to burst.

But there’s still room left,

my lite’s motto and curse.

It’s hard to imagine leaving anyone out,

to love and to accept,

is what it’s really all about.

So my heart squeezes tightly

to make one more space.

For it is always open,

everyone has a place.

By Sylvia Porter-Hall