“Do not come any closer,” God said. “Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.”
I muse, not for a moment thinking I
will hear reply when softly, voices brush
my ear, as sparrows sing and flit and fly
inside the flaming bush, whose tongues, I blush
to realize, are tongues of praise as well
as tongues of flame. “Give tongue to songs that flit
unsung within your heart like unrung bells,”
the voices seem to sing. “Be bold and let
your words flame out, oh, let them leap and dance.
Say that the King has come and speaks good news.
Make highways straight. Fill deserts with green plants.
All ground is holy now. Take off your shoes.
I must go barefoot; I feel each pebble, thorn and uneven spot when I tread the hours of the day and stub my toes in the dark of night. There is no chance I can remain unsung and unrung when I feel everything through my soles.
Soon it will be time to sing, to dance, and to peal in joy.