Aftermath of a Flood

Memory of how

I walked at dead of night

With a tired but peaceful group

Trudging slowly and prayerfully 

Towards the mountain,

The end of our quest,

Where we would arrive with the dawn.

Each prayer was a step closer,

A tired but peaceful step closer.

And I beheld all at once,

Not a host of golden daffodils,

But a host of dead leafless trees,

In a muddy field at midnight.

The trees were mud-stained till a metre high:

The aftermath of a deadly flood few months before,

Which had wrecked desolation

Upon this now-sleeping town.

A sad wasteland of a town that had seen suffering.

Slowly but surely

We plod along, towards 

The mountain that is Christ,

Who will give us and all creation

New life.

After the long weary walk of life,

Thou wert who I truly needed,

The fulfillment of my aching heart,

The slaking of my endless thirst.

Thou wert all I ever needed

He is our life-giving hope,

Our hope against the wastelands.

For in Him we find,

Finally, new life