Our Lord once called himself the sheepfold’s Gate,
Through which his sheep may enter and find rest.
But times have changed, and I have seen a sheep
(In person, and up close) perhaps but once—
But, nonetheless, he’s still the only Door
To which, to whom, we must and may apply
To find our rest, and find a lasting home.
This poem was prompted by an image Maria Tatham posted on her blog last week, though it’s utterly tangential to that post’s question. I’d also listened to at least one sermon on the “I am the Gate” passage recently.
As always, I earnestly welcome your comments, suggestions, questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. (In other words, if you liked this poem, or you didn’t like it, or it made you think of something, or … please leave a comment to let me know.) If you liked this, you can follow this blog, which includes one of my poems every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written here on my blog (starting with yesterday’s archive installment, since the full archive is by now, at well over a hundred poems, somewhat daunting); I’d especially like to know, as part of my preparations for a collection, which poems you think are my best. You may also share this poem with others, subject to my sharing policy.
This poem is also mirrored on my wiki.