Tucked in the navel of the hills
hidden from the incidental visitor
except for the doctor bird
there rests a building of truth
the gateway of Paradise
the passageway to the Kingdom.
The gravely road leads right to
the entrance, and the lifted sounds of
Happy are the Merciful
drifts in the fresh country air
like freshly cut grass
that floats out of the barn
of mooing cows.
Even the hills are silent
They peek through wooden slats
of the kingdom hall and
inch their way up to the side door –
while wrinkled, squinted eyes
smile and nod
their heads in unison
to the ancient words fingers carved
Life lived in God’s way brings joy,
responsibility and trust in the animator of soil.
The Good Book spoke about
the Hebrew word Racham
Mercy – compassion in action
a feeling that comes deep from the left kidney
seeing needs and filling them
much like the heavens saw
Biddeford that morning and said,
"Lawd have mercy! De poor land need some waata."
The fog surrounds the hills and lightly it feathers the land
with mist then drizzle,
The earth trembles thank you
and soaks up the love, rain and mercy
rain, not forced but
like the word of God
that makes alive,
Even the donkey wanted to share something about his life
braying about something or the other.