Numbers Nineteen and 20

April is over and I ran out of time, but I'm going to finish my commitment to myself to do thirty poems. So here are numbers nineteen and twenty:

Glistening and golden

The orb of the morning

Scales the firmament

To spread its glory

Over a bright new day. 

Silken flags

Mauve-tinged

Unfurl

And fill my being

With a gift

Of light

Most Beloved Friend

My Master sat down in the kitchen

His feet were all battered and sore

I washed them and lovingly dried them

While His stories He told, and much more.

He spoke of the publican sinner,

Of the harlot, the leper, the lame

He spun tales of the sewer of seedlings

Of the vinyarder's cleansing with flame.

When our brother was sick unto dying

Jesus tardily came to our aid

I thought him too late with his visit

On his deathbed our brother was laid.

He stetched forth His hand unto Laz'rus

And lifted him from his death bed

The grave clothes He lay from off him

And then Jesus anointed his head.

We stood at the cross with His mother

Our eyes now were swimming with tears   

Though He fainted with pain he was careful

Of His loved ones. He assuaged all our fears.          

I went to the garden to mourn him

I knelt at his stony tomb

The flowers ran riot around me

The air smelled of jasmine in bloom.

The mirrh I would use to anoint him

Lay still near my bended knee

For He was not there where we'd put him

He was gone to His Father, you see.

I wept that He'd left me behind him

This Man who had been my friend

His voice softly whispered, "Dear Mary

My going is in no way the end."

And now I must go on without Him

Finding my way home some day

He'll be waiting with arms out to hold me

I can't wait for his dear voice to say

"Mary, my well lov'ed sister

Your feet, bruised and battered and sore

You've walked dusty roads to find me

Welcome home from your travels once more."