Just_a Marnanel -- where's the moon for Pennsylvania?
"A spod with a high price on his head"
That jigsaw which I carried from the start
I tried to solve each day, or late at night,
and kept from hostile others' prying sight
hid in an upper chamber of my heart.
And year by year I pieced it part by part,
the edges, stormy weather, bits of tree,
and smiling folk I thought were mocking me:
a piece was missing from the puzzle's heart.
And then, that Sunday morning at my door
you knocked; I thought I recognised your call--
the puzzle held self-portraits after all--
and said: "Is this the piece you're looking for?"
It fitted. And it fits. What shall we say?
The piece of God was given me that day.
|© 1998-2014 J. Patterson.|