I want to sing of the white gold of the sun
Of the early chill of spring and of the intense green
And of saints like candle flames refreshed
We shall be in every cell, alive
Remembering the imprint of the Lord
That we are in his image cast
A casting more than of our shadow selves
And myrtle and orange blossom and lily and asphodel
And all the flowers we cannot spell enough
Into our blind being blinded by Glory
Spill over into the hidden sanctuaries of the earth.
mary angela douglas 15 march 2024
No comments:
Post a Comment