Details |
Topic Bar Poem
heavenly bamboo
a mother's loving, and grace
waters my garden
Copyright © Topic Bar | Year Posted 2016
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Details |
Topic Bar Poem
In Paradise, in it's grass, they dig holes.
In which, to place the ashes of those who can pay.
The grass grows between the Cloisters, Cathedral and
the silence of stone monks.
From within the Cloisters, echoing steps on flagstones, ricochet out through gothic arches,
along, with whispers, low hum chatter, and the noise of a refectory serving dinners.
This pleasant blend rises above Paradise, like a singing congregation and choir exalts, filling hearts with glory.
There must be days when the green blades can hear the psalms at matins, through to the hymns of evensong, smell the dinners served, and recognise familiar voices and their steps.
Days when the sun warms the ground, blessing the soil, which is listening to the warm of Paradise.
Well worth paying for.
Copyright © Topic Bar | Year Posted 2016
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