Rush and Hurry
A poem must not be rushed, but savoured.
Each ebb and flow the flavour of a fine meal, not fast food on the go,
not bogof deal chucked in the trolley, grabbed quickly from the row.
If we are God’s poem, his finest workmanship, crafted, awesome,not a single slip, intended to display the image of creator, the apple of his eye, the wisdom of our maker.
Then why oh why do we rush, with so much worry between each shortened breath, with never ending hurry to our lives, which soon enough will lose all grasp of what we hope to gain?
Rest, commune, enjoy His gracious gift, time will not last, and at last He’s coming soon.
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