[Written for the Sentinel]


A prophet's house, the road anigh,Yet claimed no glance from passers-by:Too modest for admiring gaze,It spake the prophet's selfless ways.Yet was his house to many knownWho sought surcease from sorrow's moan,For clearer light upon God's ways,And guidance 'mid life's murky maze.

One came in modest garb arrayedAnd sought the prophet's ready aid,Not for material gain or might,Nor for escape from folly's plight;Nor to o'ercome some piercing painAnd ease of body to attain;Nor yet to heal lack's bitter stress,Or limitation's weariness.

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