As I walked up and down the Strand,

I glimpsed Saint Thomas White

On the other side of the street.

Shamefully, I glanced at him.

He smiled.

In shame, I looked away and walked on.

A second time I saw him,

And found my eyes drawn to him-

So pretty, so slight, so masculine.

He winked at me.

In shame I looked away

And walked on.

A third time I saw him.

My eyes moved to him

Of their own accord.

'Hello,' he said, and smiled.

'Hello,' I replied,

And blushed, coquettishly.

When they crucified him, I stayed away.

The Methodists ministered to him,

And shamed the mob at bay.

'Didn't you know him?' a work-mate said,

And smirked, and punched my arm.

'I never did,' I cried, blushing like a bride.

I walked to Wesley's Chapel, and cried on the benches;

'Love God with all your being, And love your neighbour as yourself,'

The commandment boards replied.

Didn't God only love and refuse to judge?

Didn't God take you as you are,

And draw you to Himself if you gave yourself to Him?

Then out onto the fields at Hoxton,

And on to Newington Green,

Where revolutions are made.

I returned along the new river Jordan

To the fallen Jerusalem,

Where fear gnawed at my feeble soul, and God seemed hard to hear.

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Comment by David Brazier on September 14, 2016 at 20:27

Good poem - thank you.

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Posted by David Brazier on August 3, 2018 at 1:40 2 Comments

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From The Paris Review:

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