William T. Hathaway
Member
Like the mail, we wait for Jesus --
cooling his heels, he rises through epochs.
Out our window the air falls all day long.
Needing his missives,
staring at the approaching sidewalk,
we give up, yawn and say,
"No mail today."
Then glimpse him past us, disappearing down the block --
bare feet pressing wet roses on concrete.
cooling his heels, he rises through epochs.
Out our window the air falls all day long.
Needing his missives,
staring at the approaching sidewalk,
we give up, yawn and say,
"No mail today."
Then glimpse him past us, disappearing down the block --
bare feet pressing wet roses on concrete.