The Green Broom

Voice of the Bab’s Servant Mubarak

Sweeping, sweeping
Clearing pathways
For Him to walk on
Making a befitting place for Him
To be with Khadijih.

Sweeping, sweeping
Another auburn
Autumn leaf
Falling
Still not here

But assuring her
He will return
For each and all

Winter trees
Pencil like gray outlines
Fragile like her weeping.

But I know
He will return.

Spring, opal
Green like my broom
Painted for His honour.

When will He be here
To see the blossoms
On the trees.

Blood red blossoms
Fluttering like her happiness
That will ascend
When He walks down these pathways
And sees the mountains of blossoms.

Orange light
Filters through the windows
Looking out onto the pathway
I sweep again.

What will the next season bring?
Will it bring him?

Another coat of paint for my broom
Will not do any harm.

(c) June Perkins, word and image.

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