They spread the lengths
of His cloth with care
and drape mortality’s best white
to the corners of His table.
Once from such careful white He rose
in an earthen room.
Still when April blows
the flowers above the graves
do we most nearly sense His gift,
and gentlest touch the folded
linen in the tomb.
The Samaritan Woman at Jacob’s Well
At the sixth hour
I drew water for him,
The carpenter, who spoke quietly
Of thirst and living water.
He drank away a journey’s thirst
With waters drawn from the old well—
Drawn up from under ancient stones,
A cool but passing draft.
From under ancient stone an eternal stream,
Quietly quenches my thirst of spirit
With everlasting waters.