sat in the sturdy white chapel upon the hill.
Standing plain before two empty boxes,
the deacon spoke of Jesus' feet across the water
and how the savior soundly slept through rough waves
and, woken by the frightened crew, arose
to calm the sea with his voice and with his hand.
When the service was done the little boy left alone
and walked up the hill to the grassy bluffs overlooking the placid seas
Not a ripple suggested a wave
Not a shimmer betrayed treachery
The boy stood at the edge and yelled out
I do not forgive you!
I do not forgive you!
The sea remained.
But his little hand shook with the thrill
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