Bread-multiplying and fishes net-bursting and wine flowed past the brim.
They have already done whatever they wanted to make of you:
A friend, a clown, a teacher, and provider;
An enemy, a king, a fool and entertainer.
They have consumed you, and praised you,
maligned and adored you,
and some just stared blankly at you.
They already had their fill of you.
It's time to claim your rest.
You are my son, my babe, my precious little one.
Come now to mama's breast.
No comments:
Post a Comment