When John spoke,
his words fell to drench dry earth
and the desert was filled
with long-forgotten flowers;
the purple trumpets of repentance
and the blue-bells of earnest intent.
Imprisoned, and presumed silent,
he summoned some friends
to report on the state of the garden.
they told of wilderness beauty:
the sprouting green of new life,
the golden flowering of good news,
the pink and white flourish
of restored skin and bone,
and the red blossoming
glorious song and rainbow array
awaiting newly opened ear and eye.
Then the Baptiser knew
that the long-expected one
truly had come.
© Ken Rookes
Another poem for the third Sunday in Advent can be found here.