The job of the prophet

 The job of the prophet


The job of the prophet

Is to see round the corner

To hear silent noises

In the branches of trees


To read from the patterns

That form in the morning 

From ice on the windows

To wild honey bees


To appear at the door

With the unwelcome message

That revellers don’t want to hear

A long night of laughter and beer. 


Unable to lie he just slings his hook

Shakes off the dust from his shoes

And looks for a country of welcome

He lives alone by the sea


Alone he sits with his truth

Watching the waves rear and die

Sadly counting the days

Preaching to the wind from the West. 


The Atlantic winds laugh in his face

But he cares for the human race

Weeping for those who will follow

For those who will never be born. 


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