each morning, may we stop
by your diner, Baker of our lives,
where we are served words
full of grace, like bread fresh
out of the oven, crusted with compassion,
smelling of your yeasty justice
and we can taste hope on our tongues.
then let us go out
into this world where so many
speak to conquer, to hurt,
to shame, to mock, to cut to the quick,
our mouths becoming your table—
where the stranger is welcomed,
the forgotten are fed,
enemies are given the best booth,
and love is the daily special,
nourishing hungers no one
ever sees.
(c) 2025 Thom M. Shuman
Venmo: @Thom-Shuman
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