the house with the open window
I could not hear or understand the voice which guided me. But at eight years old I went to the rabbi and asked what is God. I was taken Into a small library lined with books I was told by a Rabbi that I was too young to understand. Now some 60 years later,again I ask. What is God.? For me I see him as a man Waiting at an open window Before I enter My fears call me back. The house is now hidden I am lost my mind's fields of denials There is the overgrowth with stalks of maise higher then my head. that keep me from seeing where to go or how i got where I am The voice which guided the eight year old still speaks But with age i am losing my hearing I am sure the house with its open window still stands unchanged He is standing watching, waiting. In the stillness of the early morning before I am fully woken I might hear but a single note of his song we will meet again.