[NicknamedBob]

Morning, Folks! Happy Mother's Day, a blessed Sunday, and ...
oh, yeah, I brought you this picture.

It's not a complete picture, of course. Kind of a big subject, if you know what I mean.

In His Image

Our god is not a dolphin,
Who listens for a call,
Of vocal tears, and patient years,
And distant voices all,
Our god is not a dweller,
In oceans far from lands,
To make us in His image,
He had to give us hands.

Our god is not an eagle,
In tumbled vaults He soars,
Who hears our laments drifting up,
Like lowing herbivores,
Who travels in a lonely state,
And views all He commands,
To make us in His image,
He had to give us hands.

Our god is not a crocodile,
Who knows He will be fed,
Who patiently appoints Himself,
Along the river bed,
Not He a god that slithers,
And awkwardly, He stands,
To make us in His image,
He had to give us hands.

Our god is not an alien,
In silent ship above,
A being without linking,
Or likingness, or love,
Our god is not a bearded one,
Who dwells in far-off lands,
To make us in His image,
He had to give us hands.

NicknamedBob . . . . May 11, 2013

[left that other site]

I really liked that, Bob.

You write some beautiful things!
(((HUGS))))

[yorkie]

Lovely, Bob. Thank you so much!