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Pot Of Gold

When I was a little boy, mother said that Odomankoma made a rainbow
A band of beauty that gladdened Noah and his kin
She brought smiles with her and a promise of peace to show
Her treasures, a dove and an olive shoot to grace her chin
At the end of Noah’s rainbow was a pot of gold;
The treasure of God’s promises of which we are told

Now that I am a man, I see in every rainbow a profound truth;
A pot of gold a promise makes
To forever be present at the end of Odomankoma’s rainbow
When my heart with despair and disappointment aches
Fondly do I remember the pledge of peace
A pot pottered to make my sorrow cease

I am weak and wrinkles a tale of experience they tell on my cheek
It is now that I have understood the wise and proverbial pot of gold!
Now my body is a rigid teak and my life a spent wick
And beckoning ever so loudly is my soul, for it seeks now the great promise
Odomankoma assures a pot of gold at the end of my rainbow
A beaker of an eternal promise – the hope of our Maranatha

Submitted: Friday, January 08, 2010

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