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

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