When a procession marches by

When a procession marches by
with shrilling trumpets, horns
and drums with a muttering beat
and cheer to an unknown god
repeating its name
time and time again
until it resounds in my ear,
I have no fear
and my spirit is clear,
my eye is set
on the sky
to watch if the coming
of Christ draws near.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!