Faithful

You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy…

~ Psalm 30

And you slicked the roofs with a shimmer of rain,
and the trunks of trees with the green of lichen.

Even the reeds that bent from the weight
of passing winds lent their sheen to the earth.

Who was I to send up my voice through the hollow,
who was I to run the flag of my sorrows up the pole?

Yesterday brought news of friends’ deaths.
And yesterday couriers left parcels at the door.

Every morning the small brown birds forage in the yard:
their industry steady, with no real expectation of return.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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