Thursday, June 10, 2010

a mysterious impromptu


Like dewy grass under sunrise
To bare feet, as infants' smiling faces,
Or a book long unread closed around traces
Of letters written long since: surprise!
God's graces startle awake sleepwalkers;
They arise and shake us, but quietly! shine;
All-deftly moved. No edge is keener, no shade too fine
God knows its tincture, directs its line
'Twixt joints and marrow while we stand like gawkers
Drunk on sweet wine: the heart was glad.
Were we mere talkers? For yet quiet as grass,
Dewy grass at morning, were God's miracles:
as leaf's budding and leaf's fall.

It was softer than I could name,
more than I could hold, all the same
in my heart too-narrow. Praise God!


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