now we seem to need the beautiful things more than ever
when we seem again to stand as generations before us
on the brink of some apocalypse
whether of fire or ice
even Robert Frost couldn’t ascertain, in his day
oh, but we are not lost, those who begin or are closing out
their mysteriously apportioned days
let all souls young or old blaze out
how many leaves of gold remain
on winter’s trees as on the Tree of poetry.
remember then, each time you hear the wind
or rose blind, feel the clouds shift overhead
that God is God and you are you instead
of someone else
and by Divine appointment
led here to dream the time away
in the fullest measure of dreaming,
come what may.
mary angela douglas 5 november 2023
No comments:
Post a Comment