He comes in a wool suit,
just like you and I,
but his motive
is to be unseen, swallowed
up in the pious crowd,
while he checks the truth
in Sunday hearts, and listens
for insincere prayers, said
with eyes open, heads unbowed,
lip service all too familiar,
rote, while Monday's agendas
lay heavy on the mind.
He sighs for those who need
His grace,and perhaps will inch
along the pew to reach over
and hold the hand of a Sunday
heathen, and see him embrace
the love of God.

03/03/2002

Posted on 03/03/2002
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce