Whereunto But Naught
Precious words peel gently from golden lips.
Homilies pure and right which teach the soul.
A presence omnipotent lent now unto wisdom.
Perception keen; deliverance made whole.
Inspiration comes forth now from the heart like unto liquid rain.
Colors once obscure now cleansed by the crimson stain.
So whereunto does both the heart and soul so sweetly see?
Whereunto but naught at the foot of an old rugged tree.
J. Allen Wilson © 6/2008