I remember listening to a preacher every Sunday
making sure he put God in his statements
as if his sermon would be better understood.
In amazement, the congregation blankly starred.
Though giving parable of the farmer who through
ample seeding in a sun-lit field sowed as he went.
Some upon the hardened road that the sun destroyed.
Some upon the wayside and the birds ate of them.
Some fell among the thorns and were later choked out.
While others fell upon good soil and brought forth crop.
So that which eludes this verse and any of the verses,
that which is unheard by the sharpest of hearing,
misunderstood by the cunningest of minds,
his words penetrate every heart giving it pulse.
Which we at our best pursue yet ever miss,
the words clear yet still remain a secret, an illusion.
Priceless, freely given, yet never man the owner
How fascinating the power of it, in every age and land
these words have drawn the eyes and mind of man.
Rich as the rising and setting of a summerís sun,
glowingly as the northern lights are unreachable
Joyfully Godís riddle of it, unflappable, yet so certain.
The soul longs for it, the universe searches for it
and at last heaven anoints it.