Poem June 29, 1987 Issue

Godbeams

Judith M. Chapman

I couldn't find the sun today.
Counted on it, I admit.
Had it shone too much yesterday?
Could such radiance just quit?

The sky's so pale; the gray dulls green.
There is nothing that looks bright...
but is touch sure? What's truly seen?
(I really prayed for insight.)

Then answering another's need, I spied:
The Word's our light. Warmth we be.
Why, we're Godbeams! ... ever "on"—inside!
The gray turned sparkling silvery.

Judith M. Chapman

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True strength: physical or spiritual?
June 29, 1987
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