by brian francis

Though the cloth is worn and faded
And the seams are stretched and torn
While the colors are less than they once were
There are no stains in this old piece of cloth

After years of work and squander
Mucking around in the refuse of life
Through a gift of spirit and wonder
Washed clean in the grace of His light

His heart is the way of salvation
Through love is the promise redeemed
Still torment beguiles with temptation
For acceptance is just but the seed

And this cloth is but a canvas
Whereon the masterpiece of life is beheld
And the stroke of the brush is creation
And the image is that of the self

Copyright ©2020 brian francis

Published by

B. F. O'Connor

Born and raised in the idyllic environment of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. A rural paradise perfect for a roving childhood. Now living in the desert southwest, with a flock of parrots, a pigeon, and Three dogs.

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