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Poetry for the Moment

Poetry for the Moment
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Want

On the second Sunday
after Easter

our minister,

robes flowing
flowered shawl

draped around his neck,
reads to us.

We sit on the hard benches,

listening.

Warm spring air

blows in through
the open doors.
Outside,
daffodils nod.

“The Lord is my shepherd,”
he reads
from the big open book.
“I shall not want.”
His message is all about
that one word:

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