The Veil Begins To Tear
Where was beauty as I rose,
Or as I trod the earth?
Dearest mother of its grace,
Have you given birth?
I have lost the light of fall,
The smell of waking spring;
The gold of summer, winter's frost,
The water's sparkling.
What but eyes can tell the soul
Of life within this light?
Have I lost the ears to hear
The breath of sacred night?
Younger days reclaim their light,
And I, a child there;
Rise, beloved of my soul --
The Veil begins to tear.
Copyright © Christopher Steven Coan | Year Posted 2011
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