Friday, 8 April 2011


His face a fistful of character,
Clenched with the urgency of his message,
His folder hands a weather-scarred creel,
The preacher prayed.

His preaching begun -
   The rising sun
   Lights steeple
   Moves to chimneys
   Finally embraces the houses
   In light and warmth
 - His face lit.

His dialect love
   He says, "Come;
Come to Jesus".

1 comment:

I'm glad to hear how this strikes you!