A Flock of Preachers

A Flock of Preachers

Before dawn
they rose—
each ‘one’
finding a pulpit.

The sun
still hours
from cascading
herself over the
horizon’s line…

The preachers
seemed to dip
‘into’ the Milky Way
and dangled
from Orion’s Belt.

They gathered
only ‘enough’
to begin
their sermon.

the homily began.
A concerto of
voices echoed
throughout the land.

One message
ran into another
and still another
raced in
creating a ‘harmony’
not composed—
its symphony
never duplicated.

No one ‘sang’ about
‘wrong’ doing
or sin…
The message was not about being
saved or forgiven.

The Gospel Truth
from these
feathered preachers
was a simple note
sung in their own key.

Yet—when they sang
they were ONE.

The sun rose
by the sound of love.

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