On the knees of Sunday’s hem.
To trim away fat and grief.
I come, not because of Jesus,
not because of poverty’s righteous view.
Nor because broken window seals -while the dust settles through.
Not to be born again, and die of royalties -peculiar few.
On the knees of Sunday’s hem.
A praying mantis lifts her tentacles in tune.
For love’s bearing seed. Seated far above earthly cares.
To satisfy these wooden bellies. For I have come to witness,
the birds dropping dew. I have come to pray like lovers do.
Yes, I have to come to eat the bread and the wine.
I have come to stow away.
My mother’s fears, for the sake of time.
A Poet's Vision 
Lovely vision of sunday morning — something I’ve been watching from the pulpit end of the room for the last 35 years.
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wow 35 years- what a sight! Blessings to you as you Lead the people, much love xo
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Absolutely breathtaking…
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thank you kindly 😉
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