dour-faced
in the presence
of stunning sunsets;
stricken with chronic severity
while surrounded
by gurgling babies;
frozen-souled when touched
by the warmth of
grace;
if we are made in your image,
it's no wonder people think of you
as a grouchy old geezer,
God of Joy.
so, breathe on us . . .
fill our souls with:
laughter which chases away
the long faces;
chuckles which wipe frowns
off our brows;
great guffaws
which shatter hardened hearts;
fill us,
Breath of sidesplitting shrieks,
so we can celebrate
the last laugh on
death.
(c) Thom M. Shuman
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