The Moya View

The New Flood: A Poem

Only snakes never cry when the old skin dies and falls away

So cry, cry until the pain, the anger and all the misery is shed

In the baptism—

Cry until there is nothing left but hope and love,

Because they are anchored in the heart and soul

And thus beyond the flood.

When the water recedes and the vision clears

HE will be there—

And just a little further behind

So will I.





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