We had hiked the hills a long, long way
My privilege was to gift their feet that day
Soak in warm water, soothe with mint lotion
Seemed to me just the right heaven-sent potion
My desire, you see, was to mimic my Lord
Their refusal to allow it caught me off guard
My gift was unwanted, unaccepted, and scorned
No concern had they; oh, my heart was torn
It occurred to me then how my Savior's gift waits
To be opened and entered as tabernacle gates
Will His everlasting Gift I glibly ignore
As He washes my feet on His infinite shore
Hey, there, nce poetry and nice person behind the poem! Enjoyed reading. Thank you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It occurred to me then how my Savior's gift waits To be opened and entered as tabernacle gates Miltonic way of expression... nice one