Wednesday, 20 July 2016

Pilgrim's Field

          Pilgrims' Field
I am walking up this hill
To a field of golden wheat
From which the sacred bread is made
That pilgrims long to eat

The morning sun is high
But this wood is dark and still
It is long, and hard, and food is scarce
But I am walking up this hill

Each time I fall or faint
There, is a healing tree
Planted by my great friend
To bring hope and strengthen me

As I rise to walk again
I am further up the road
Somehow carried by the healing
Closer now to God

It is the dream of that golden bread,
The embrace of those sacred hands
That keep my footsteps resolute
All up this dark green land

WILF 07/2016

Tuesday, 12 July 2016

The Place to be

                           THE PLACE TO BE
   The correct and bestest place to be
   Speaking theologicalee, and politically
   Is the high moral ground
   It's all the rage, it's all around,

   But there is a dark and dirty tree
   That shakes with an anguished plea
    "Father forgive for they do not know"  
    Welcome to the ground where the high morals grow.

                                                Wilf July 2016