God's Secretary

by R.S. Gwynn

Her e-mail inbox always overflows.
Her outbox doesn't get much use at all.
She puts on hold the umpteen-billionth call
As music oozes forth to placate those
Who wait, then disconnect.  Outside, wind blows,
Scything pale leaves.  She sees a sparrow fall
Fluttering to a claw-catch on a wall.
Will He be in today?  God only knows.

She hasn't seen His face--He's so aloof.
She's long resigned He'll never know or love her
But still can wish there were some call, some proof
That He requires a greater service of her.
Fingers of rain now drum upon the roof,
Coming from somewhere, somewhere far above her.