by Leonard M Hawkes
This lingering December cold,
Makes me long for the common land;
When season and storm were sustenance,
Acknowledged as Heaven’s hand.
And I long for that common family
When kin and blood meant care;
Wide roots recognized, ancestral home--
Tradition and heart kept you there.
And too I long for the common Christ,
One faith, and lives parallel;
No questioned distinction of virtue or vice
--I thirst for that common Well.
Author's Note: Written in a disintegrating rural community at the funeral of a friend's father.
Posted on 11/30/2018
Copyright © 2018 Leonard M Hawkes