Buckets of Grace

She brought me a bucket
Of calm, clear sea.
She bent down slowly
And put it at my feet.

Out of her pocket,
She withdrew a wild rose.
She placed the bright, red flower
Right between my toes.

She sat for a while
With her head upon my knee.
Our bodies warm together
Her soft cheek soothing me.

She suddenly took the sand and
Scrubbed my flaking heel.
I pushed her little hands away
And asked her not to kneel.

I don’t deserve your kindness.
I don’t deserve your service.
I should wash your feet.
Being loved makes me nervous.

Her gritty fingers reached out
And touched my trembling hand,
Then went about their washing,
Cleaning feet with sugar sand.

She poured out her water and joy
Over my polished-pinking flesh,
Then wiped away my gathering tears
Falling fast and fresh.

Undeserved grace.

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