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It's not the friendliest of villages, Emmaus,
the people parochial, as desert people are,
bound up in the herding and bartering of beasts,
the vines on its terraces encumbered with thorns,
the children in the market-place roasting a sparrow,
hardly the place to expect revelation,
if revelation's the word-I leave that to you.
Not that we'd never believed, my partner and I,
not that, but leaving Jerusalem on business,
with news of death, or perhaps I should say
the absence among us of someone like a God,
we felt at a loss and not a little diminished,
and talk as we may, of covenants and creeds,
ours thoughts came round...