If ever
rain should sing a hymn
throughout
and through in;
if ever
unfolding buds with tiny pain
should
bloom big over meadows;
if ever
hearts in deepest pain
should
find a silver light—
let it be
on Good Friday,
our day of
holy surrender to
more than
we know,
our bow of
reverence to
more than
we are,
our wail
of grief for
all that
might have been,
our needed
emptying
of the cup
of self to
find an
inner morning—
an Easter
wherein
the Sun of
Love
will rise again
No comments:
Post a Comment