The Burning Bush Poem by Michael Walker

A golden warmth proceeds from seeds of fire
Igniting in my heart her pure desire
To the singing of the angels' choir
And the stringing of the Spirit's lyre.

My feet cannot be clad to tread this place,
Nor am I worthy to behold the face
That is the seat of mercy, font of grace,
The blessed savior of the human race,

Yet let me pray to whom whose womb once bore
The messenger whom all men must adore,
The Word Himself Who lives forevermore
As the one and only holy door!

A rush of wind breathes from the burning bush
And sweetest peace unceasing bids us hush.