Will George Poet Morning's Feast

Morning's Feast.

The morning mists have rolled away,

Harkening to a new day.

The kingdom of God must come,

First to the hearts of woman and man.

Sin will be pressing in thought and deed,

Soon to misdirect and mislead.

The birds are early in welcoming the morn,

Their singing a praise for the awakening dawn.

The toil of sustenance awaits the body,

In the labourer whose reward is a slimming parody.

Feed me from the world full of dregs,

To obesity of character, supported on thin legs.

The mind must learn what the heart understands,

Bring together the truth that consideration demands.

Knowledge is a fountain for those who search,

A lesson made available from darkness to emerge.

A direction offering substance for those who thirst,

Satisfaction justified, ignorance to immerse.

The soul reflects the inner self,

A mirror of images, in sickness or in health.

Keen is the physician's word of cure,

Applied as a balm to spirit unsure.

The lotion is love applied with care,

More than the body's sustaining fare.

The challenges are many to attain,

A cohesive and natural domain.

The heart responsive to deepest need,

Of the flock the shepherd came to feed.