[grantswank]

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SATURDAY SPICES

I’m taking spices wrapped in gauze.
I’m taking them no matter what.
I know they’ve sealed him off from view.

I know the guard will drag my frame.
I know I know I know but still I’ll do
What I can do. I will. You, too?

You said you’d make the trek with me
To borrowed tomb. You said it, true?
So meet me in the vale at dawn. . .

Somehow we’ll trudge the spices’ bag.
Somehow we’ll make it to His side,
Somehow till my heart’s torn and won.




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[grantswank]

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SATURDAY VOICES

Along the way I hear a voice,
A tender one. I look to spy
But no one’s there, no breeze to tend.

I think I’ve lost my mind, my God!,
What’s left, yet voices there to hear,
So quickly glance around the bend

So certain that I heard—in fact—
His voice, there, yes. Imagining.
I’m blurred. I’m faint. I’m tottering

And so of course there in the din
But then, oh, there it is, a voice
Like His. I’ve collapsed—wondering.




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[ST.LOUIE1]

Welcome to the 'Finest', grant!

I've read several of your sermons on another thread, enjoyed them and appreciated your taking the time to write them.

We have a wonderful group of FRiends here, come more often.

Plus a certain 'wolf' who resides here could use a little preachin' to, or so the ladies think. : )