It is not the healthy that need the doctor.
But the sick.
Who is our proctor.
Are we the dead or the quick.

I dreamt I was cycling with my grandchild.
In this heavenly slipstream.
No one and no thing riled.
We all were in one stream.

The word cuts like any double edged sword.
But more finely.
For it is the word of the Lord.
Between soul and spirit it searches keenly.

But once I am conscious.
I lose the hope of the unconscious.

Haiku

Cycling with granddaughter
In this heavenly slipstream
No one or thing riled

He Word of the Lord
Cuts through like a two-edged sword
But more finely