Rest. On the throne he sits, replete, His work to buy his own, complete. In peace and vic'try, end to end He calls us now with naught to spend to drink and dine and sing. Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash
Rest
Category: Short Poems
Two boughs
“Come down from the branches,”
said the wise man to the tree
in which an angry skeptic sat,
who may as well be me.
At the bottom of the branches
two boughs began their twist,
and there, he said, you simply
make a claim, “Does God exist?”
