The Wind
Branches sway and wiggle like a restless
child.
Dry leaves dance a jig across the road.
Dust fans squirm to the road’s other side.
What the adult takes for granted,
The child in him wonders
That nothing can move something.
The mother doesn’t yell at a child
The father decides to go to the program
after all.
The child enjoys soap suds of dishwashing.
What a Christian takes for granted,
The child in him wonders
That God’s Spirit moves man.
No comments:
Post a Comment