A Poem


Finding Pasture

I stand at the cemetry feeling out of place.

The life of a man, a good man has come to an end.

Downcast eyes, hurried greetings, hugs.

A piper leads us towards the hall.

Catholics buried here says the rusty sign.

Lutherans buried here says another sign.

Greek Orthodox here, the list goes on.

I notice but I don’t respond, the life of a good man who was neither has come to an end.


Where will they bury him?


Outside, in the field, among the sheep, now alone, stands a cross.

Looking through stained glass windows I hear the tones of a well worn hymn. 

Everyone is in there I want to get in.

This is my church, the place I belong, Jesus you are the way! Please let me in.

I stand at the door and read the words etched in stone:

I am the…

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