FIRST THE WARNING
First the warning
Then the storm,
All hatches battened down
The rain is pleasant on the roof,
The wind is Bach crescendo.
But sometimes storm arrives
With little or no warning,
Misery upon suffering pounds against the soul,
Wind snatches away our prayer.
What then?
What now?
Son of God in stable born,
Son of God between two thieves
Dying on a cross
While soldiers laugh and bullies taunt.
It may seem answer insufficient,
But in the storm a bell is heard,
Buoy rolling with the waves.
George R. Pasley
November 23, 2008
