Plates, forks, spoons, and
knives laid out for your
feast.
I drew fresh water from the well
and walked with the pail digging
into my hip, where it left a bruise.
At my table, your mouth will never be dry.
I harvested the wheat I ground to make
the bread, and I put my whole body into it,
that it would rise inside you, perpetually full.
Your stomach need never ache again.
I shook down my orchard and
picked my vines bare. I filled my baskets
until my arms buckled from exhaustion
and my back protested it's bend.
There is enough to take with you
and fill your cellars through scores of
summers.
Come find your fulfillment at my feast
and you will need no new love all your life;
the milk and honey of my assurance will be
always on your lips, faith and hope will fill
your belly and you will carry the satisfaction
of peace with you wherever you go
should you come to my feast.
