Poetry

Golden Bowl

From brokenness comes birth. Dying, we know our worth. Yet we scant our stature, Blind to our true nature. For God in man did build A vessel to be filled — Hollowing out the soul To be His Golden Bowl: In it we see a face — His Image and His Grace....

Winter Tree

Unsheltered now it stands, A skeleton, exposed, That barely comprehends  The seasons life has closed. Yet, there’s an opening — The promise that stirs spring, Hidden, intimating The gift that faith will bring....