MORE WINE
They had heard about him,
Those days, who hadn't,
Small town talk, everyone knew,
So there he was,
At the wedding party,
And the wine ran out.
Just like nowadays, no different,
With every strike of terrorism,
Every nail of unkindness,
Scourge of misunderstanding,
Sword of greed out of its scabbard
Our wine of hope runs out.
So his mother, a woman - wise and blessed,
She said
Do whatever he tells you
This puzzled them,
However, alarmed, and confused,
They did,
And the wine flowed.
On reflection, perhaps,
We may still drink of that wine,
Of wedding bliss, of joy,
In celebrating another's happiness,
And in turn making ourselves happy.
Hmmm,
Do whatever he tells you
She said
MORE WINE © gillena cox 2016
You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #74, ❧✿❧
What's your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites
Blog hopping at the
Tuesday Platform
AND
Prompt Nights
– To travel is to take a journey into Yourself – [28]
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“I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.” – Lillian Smith
