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Retired archaeologist and governmental tree-hugger. I'm a: United Methodist lay pulpit supply preacher; semi-professional photographer; and poet.

Monday, June 6, 2016

ANOTHER MOURNING WIDOW





To the town of Nain he went,
Along with his students, and
a curious crowd came too,
To the town called Pleasant,
On the flank of Jebel-ed-Duhy,
Beside the plain of Esdraelon,
To this place, the Gate to Nain. 

By the Gate of Nain, a corpse;
A young man, taken too soon.
Neighbors bore his body up,
Out through the Gate from Nain.

He had been an only child -
A widow-woman's only son.
She followed him from town,
Other widows came with her,
And the childless ones came -
A black tornado crying out.

His heart broke to see it,
And it rose into his throat.
He remembered,
His dear mother;
Joseph's widow.
"Don't cry."

And then the Son of Man,
Stopped the pall-bearers,
Spoke to the fleshy residue,
Spoke to the soul in Sheol;
The Son of God spoke,
To the son of the widow:
"Rise." 

The son rose from his bier.
Death went through the gate,
But left him there behind,
Beside the Gate of Nain.

"Here, Mother, is your son."
Fear and joy intertwined,
There in a pleasant town,
There at the Gate of Nain.


(Taken from Luke 7 by Tiwago)

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