christian poetry

a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
these be
beneath my window in a city street
simply speaking
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
see, they return
by the shore, by the sea
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
i know what you're going to say
little gate was reached at last
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
night was black and drear
softly now the light of day
to be able to see every side of every question