a nice poem there.
In the pulpit he swayed and turned
Leaned forward, backward
His solemn voice echoed,
Lowly the congregation followed;
“Do you love your neighbour?”
Meekly they bow at his keen eye
Now examining a grey head
Hearing under her sobs.
His heart kept assured-
“Her sins weigh on her”
So with her he chats outside;
“Weep not, child you are pardoned,”
“But sir, your beard conjured up
The spirit of my dead goat!”
By Proscovia Rwakyaka
DREAM IT NOW!!! 