Poetry

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© Bob Barra, 4-6-06

Don’t kiss me, dear,
And tell me it’s alright,
When I’m not walking with Him;
Not living in His might;
Beat me about the head and shoulders,
And smack me with the truth,
That I may march with His soldiers,
With obedience as my proof;
The pain of the truth,
Might make my pride swell,
Or adherence may remove sin’s uncouth;
It’s not like I’m sent to hell.



“Faithful are the wounds of a friend;
but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful.”
Proverbs 27:6 (KJV)

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