The Good Samaritan
As I ride on my donkey I see a wounded man lying on the hard, hot ground. It must be burning his back. As people walk along they look at him. I get off my donkey and go to him. The sun becomes brighter and hotter. I see that his clothes have been teared into pieces. His blood, the colour of fire, and salty sweat drip down his face. He looks at me and just stares. I lift his head and he lies on me. The trees sway from side to side whispering to me. I pour oil and wine to heal his wounds. I carry him onto my donkey and ride away.