A reed blows in the wilderness; it flies
and flaps about vacuously.
The lame walk, the blind see:
Are you the one we are waiting for?
John languishes, Herod steams;
The noon is long and dry.
The Son of Man still will not mourn;
He belongs to another day.
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Published by Matthew Pullar
Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.
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