Family and Faith Magazine Easter, 2017 | Page 10

POEM
The River
carries me along
the sharp crouching stones in the bed.
she soothes the nips, the tears and the blisters;
moistens the dryness, the dearth, the dying.
her hands gently turn me, ebb my limp faith
along the jagged banks leaning and lurking
at my besotted weakness, prowling at my pain.
I lie here in her bosom, almost lifeless
like the man who lay there bruised and bleeding
who lost his everything, who became invisible in plain sight,
except to her.
she rescues us from the weak, the wicked and the unmerciful.
she pours out life for us to drink;
nurses us with strength,
setting us on a path.
her Samaritan milk is a balm
binding me into wholeness.
she undergirds me, uplifts me,
makes the way for me, makes up for me.
she hoists me, washes me, revealing my crystal
to the Glorious Son.
together they give me new life
and a new power to swim.
Shelly-Ann Harris
© 2016
10 familyandfaithmagazine.com