I Met God

I met God. She was standing on a corner.

     Her appearance could not be a fantasy.

She stood there wearing nothing more than rags,

     rags conjured up from rended majesty.

I was buying donuts for a treat.

     Clearly, she had not a thing to eat.

I stood there in the judgment of her gaze

     caught rich in all I'd learned to seek and prize.

She stood her ground with absolutely nothing

     except the sacred dignity in her eyes.

I met God; she was standing on a corner:

     It's up to me, now, if she lives or dies….

A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.


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