Poetry

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The Spirit Sings the Blues
(edited)

Help me! I can’t get up!
I can hardly reach my cup;
I’m much too weak to sup
Or belch a good hiccup.

I once was strong and hale;
Now I’m flabby and frail.
I walked the satanic trail;
Unfit now, I sure do ail.

You see, been off my feed,
Partook of that bad seed,
Ate many tares and weeds,
And choked on worldly creeds.

I walked down a wrong track
And tripped over a crack.
I surely caught some flack;
My spirit’s blue and black

You see…

The carnal body got fed.
Lots of loose paths led
To sins of absolute dread.
Now the spirit’s almost dead:

It’s an insipid gray blue,
Too weak to even chew;
It needs to sip good brew.
How about some holy stew?

As I dine upon the Word
The Good News has stirred.
My spirit again has heard
And gives wing like a bird.

Come--I will give you rest
...Let me enter as your guest.
...Lay your burdens on my breast
...And may your hearts be blessed.

© 2009 Jeanne E. Webster



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