His paws are folded at his chin
As penitent for canine sin
His eyes, upon his mistress' face
Seek from above a deeper grace
And when she stretches him a hand
He stirs and seems to understand,
With black nose lifted into heaven,
Communion without wine or leaven.
As through the sanctuary now
The pastor and the people bow,
He bends his shaggy head with hers,
Not the least among these worshipers.
The woman who gave me this poem knew the author, Arthur M. Sampley, a professor at North Texas State University. She said she was glad Morey comes because she likes having a dog in church!
No comments:
Post a Comment