The Fisher Of Men (Poetry)

Few of them ever
got in touch unless
they wanted something
one would think He had
nothing else to do

except sit there and
listen to appeals
for help when He knew
it came down to this
when all else had failed

A lesser god would
perhaps feel bitter —
somewhat resentful
but He rose above
such petty weakness

He tried to be fair
and weigh up each case
with an open mind
remembering how
imperfect men are

No one else to blame
but Himself of course
if He’d planned better
He’d have Sundays free
for golf and fishing