Like the ole farmer before morning dawn
The poet quietly went about his orisons
Searching pastures for those not returning home
Setting out provision for the anticipated coming
For words and images were important
Even if the congregation was but few
He could not force any to the nourishment
Convince any that manna was in dew
It's always been the way of the givers
Always the way of the prodigal wanderers
Starved upon the husks of the swine
Provision before them of water to wine.
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