There are those who walk on by, not willing to sample the wares,
not willing to enter in and be a part;
when they look in our windows, they see disheveled shelves (or is that selves?),
grudges, priced to move quickly,
beautiful window dressings covering dirty, bitter hearts.
So they walk on by; and so would I
these are supposed to be
it seems kingdom life is under self-rule, and
bowing down happens only on Sundays, sometimes.
And we wonder why there is no revival, why our truth-telling is ineffective.
Ah . . .
but it is effective,
and that’s why the world just walks on by.