Sunday, 13 February 2011

December Poem

Shall we hear with our hearts
and come to love the Maker?
Or will we remain unturned,
and furrowed, and bowed,
straining against the bit and the dust.
Is it a choice or a plan that
drives history to its centre
once more?
Welcome the King, everything crows.
Bow low and kiss the shackles free.

No comments:

Post a Comment