WHO ARE MY PEOPLE?
By Rosa Zagnoni Marinoni
My people? Who are they?
I went into the church where the congregation
Worshipped my God. Were they my people?
I felt no kinship to them as they knelt there.
My people! Where are they?
I went into the land where I was born,
Where men spoke my language . . .
I was a stranger there.
“My people,” my voice cried. “Who are my people?”
Last night in the rain I met an old man
Who spoke a language I do not speak,
Which marked him as one who does not know my God.
With apologetic smile he offered me
The shelter of his patched umbrella.
I met his eyes . . . And then I knew . . . .
I went wandering this morning and found some food for thought. Enjoy this work by an amazing poet and follow the link to read all about her: Rosa Zagnoni Marinoni, a great lady, author and poet and human being.
“Finally, brethren. . . become complete, Be of good comfort, be of one mind, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you. The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit, be with us all.” 2 Cor. 13:11, 14
Have a great day!