THE PREACHER

His face a fistful of character,

Clenched with the urgency of his message,

His folded hands a weather-scarred creel,

The preacher prayed.

His preaching begun -

The rising sun

Lights steeples,

Moves to chimneys,

Finally embraces the houses

In light and warmth

- His face lit.

His dialect love

He says “Come;

Come to Jesus”.