I bring my trailing-mud soul feet
to Your table
laden with a banquet of many-guest anticipation.
And before them all
Smiling at me
with tenderness
You bring out a great tub
of soapy steaming water
sparkling red.
You kneel
to my cleansing.
Saturday, December 1982
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem