SycamoreA Poem by Doug BlairThe tree that gave Zacchaeus his chance
Still standing.
Beside the main street. Feeling the pulse Of spring rains, The crown of summer, The testing pull Of autumn storms. Children explore My limbs and shelter. Adventurers pass, Out to new possibilities. Some, retracing steps In homeward reunion Or retreat. Presently a strange din; One stalwart man And His entourage. Onlookers press in, Curious and hopeful. What’s this? Someone scrambles up, Tugs my extremities, Scrapes my bark, Settles, Balancing to watch. Much like the children. (Generations of them.) I serve their purpose. I serve his purpose. Giving the better view. And the Master looks up, My Maker. Issuing the call: “Zacchaeus, come down. I will come to your house.” © 2012 Doug BlairAuthor's Note
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Added on September 30, 2012 Last Updated on September 30, 2012 Tags: witnessing, routine, Jesus passes AuthorDoug BlairWaterloo, Ontario, CanadaAboutIn my sixties. Married. Father of two. Disillusioned lawyer who put on the blue collar. Poet. Blogger. Nature hiker. Newsboy for Jesus. Lover of most things Scots. more..Writing
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