Kinship

willtrib

A queen and peasant met and smiled
Upon the open road;
Beside the queen the royal child
In splended trappings glowed,

Upon her breast the peasant bore
Her babe, ill-clad, unshod.
The queen rode in her coach and four,
Afoot the peasant trod.

But mother love and kindred souls
Looked from the eyes of each,
Though far diverging lay the goals
Their spirits sought to reach.

"Who was it" asked the little son
of royal blood and mien,
"That passed us and you smiled upon?"
"My sister", said the queen.

willtrib

A love will dream and faith will trust
Somehow somewhere meet they must

Small wonder then your garden sod;
by pagan feet like mine is trod,
We came to see true acts of god
and need not your nod

somewhere somehow meet they must;
And we need not your nod

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