He did, but we scurry and scour, seeking silver and power,
grumble as our stomachs rumble on –
sour and empty.
He feasted on her golden harvest offerings of ripened awareness.
He found rest in her embrace –
full to satisfied.
He loved her; penned scroll upon scroll of her poetry.
The soul sang sweet honey.
Skeptics baited him in vain, with fear and pride, but
answers, flowing gold, melted sneers into awe and gratitude.
Her handmaidens, Fame and Fortune, humbly followed,
her presence more pervasive than renown.
Her silken voice held wealth beyond compare.
King Solomon’s fame lay squarely in her sustenance: Sophia.
Wisdom, used by God himself to lay in place the very
earth on which we find our footing, the very
heavens that hold our starry dreams.
She has set her table and shouts out loudly
down the street for all to come and eat.