Tuesday 17 March 2020


To come quietly in the night
And lay myself down
At the feet of Jesus.
To feel the oil
Tenderly assuage
The smart of my wounds.
To have my scared chirps
Smothered by the down
Of the hen’s wings,
To hear
– After wind, earthquake and fire –
A gentle voice.
To repose
On the bosom of Jesus.

This is a reaction to the Malcolm Guite poem at

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