Before I start it’s my duty to say
I’m not sure there’s a poem in this
But it certainly made me think.
Coming out of Quakers, he said,
I can see God must have a human face
Just like he’d have the face of a woodlouse
For a woodlouse;
I told him he ought to write a book
And we both drove home.
On the way back, I’m thinking,
Is there a poem in this,
What would woodlouse parables be,
Would he come to his own,
Yet his own know him not,
Crucify, Crucify, would they cry
As the immortal woodlouse died?
During the meeting I noticed
A wren fly the length of the nave.
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