Sampling of poetry 'The Missionary'

of Pagan deserts,

to build an oasis, where faith will flow,

like refreshing water.

Their rod is hope, faith is their staff.

Guidance comes from above.

They may be Priests or Nuns,

men or women.

Sacrifice knows no gender.

They work as one, each with a dream.

Those with hunger must be given food.

Teaching must unlock the mind.

A wayward soul is there,

Aching to be free.

The comforts of home are but a distant dream.

They must walk the path of those

they choose to serve.

The missionary must feel pain

to ease the pain of others.

To understand hunger,

one must endure it.

Danger is their constant companion;

to be recognized, but not feared.

To touch hearts, they must embrace hands,

perhaps black, white, or olive.

All are different; all are equal.

Sacrifice knows no bias.

Their task completed; they return

to their native land.

No cheering crowds salute them.

No palm leaves mark their path.

Reward will come on the final day.

but each one knows what they have done,

Is what HE would have them do.

(09-26-02) [[In-content Ad]]