Common Cup
A treasured memory will often surface
to the pleasure of our recall.
And we wish we could package
and share it with one and all.
It's the Fall of 70 in a Mid- Western city.
Between classes, we are gathered in the chapel
of a small college- my Alma Mata.
It's a communion service of bread and juice.
There's just one loaf of bread and a pitcher of juice.
No eyebrows were raised, and no questions are uttered
as the school president begins to serve every student.
We broke bread together from a common loaf.
And we all drank fruit juice from a common cup.
We feared neither venom nor spread of virus.
There was only the spread of love and unity.
But understandably, those days of innocence are over,
and we shall commune no more like that until we
join together at our Master's table in heaven.
Until then, I shall treasure what is now a memory
that once was a special bond with a common cup.
092221PS
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