Saturday, April 7, 2012
1:04 AM
In the grey
damp I sat,
Just ris’n
from moods whereat
I could find cause for shame,
My red eyes
lit on the thorn,
And the
skullcap He had borne
When alone
and forlorn,
Souls like me did him maim.
And I wept
fresh that this
World He
begot in bliss
Had been my foul accomplice.
Would that
the elements
Not rendered
obedience,
But in holy
dissonance,
My urge on them dismissed.
Then
flashed through that drab bush,
In a gold,
crimson rush,
And lit upon the thorn,
He stared
at me with redd’ned face,
The sign of
his proud place,
For he ‘gainst
thorns so base,
Wrestled with their sharp scorn.
His small
beak could not clasp
Wood like fangs
of an asp,
Yet, impassioned he strove,
And bloodied
his white face,
And hence
no rain can chase,
From his sweet
head that trace,
Of his small act of love.
Finch,
gratias ago!
For penitents
to know,
That not all creatures did
Abandon their
Master,
Is a
healing plaster,
In their
sad dark, an aster,
That ne’er was all rev’rence hid.
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About Me
- Jacobitess
- Warsaw, Poland
- Domine, spero quia mundum vicisti. Lord, I trust that Thou hast overcome the world. Panie, ufam, żeś pokonał świat.
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