Supper Being Ended

In the quiet place
at close of day
he washes the feet of my mind
from the dust of its fret.

His infinite eyes
see the straining and wounds of the road,
his hands
bring smarting
and cleansing
and balm.

The grace of his health
restores my soul
her place in the circling stars of perpetual praise.

Then, taking again the seamless robe,
the Alpha-Omega,
Master and Lord,
we talk together,
friend with friend.

Joan A.Bidwell

♥♥♥

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