Thursday, March 24, 2016

Birdsong, Over The Ravines

where words break apart
and a trickle of sorrow enters in
and then the streams, the floods,

the ice floes rushing

the coldness settling about you, numb, all limbs
hush, for beyond words there will come
the consolations of little birds

who do not know of your grief
and sweetly sing as though
sorrow was never in the green leafed world

nor shadow of war
nor wars' bloody aftermaths
nor what now: you cannot grasp,

only just having heard.
and you enrapt in their silver

poured forth on the air
cannot, will not despair in the white dawn
suddenly blanched beyond what you can bear

and it will be

as though bright angels came to you, quickly!-
to forestall the wall going up immediately
between you and all former joys

and soothed, bathed may you be there
as you lean in the cool grass
in music, strangely and mysteriously blessed

that you might be at rest

mary angela douglas 24 march 2016