Vespers
All my life I've looked for a shooting star, believing it would be a kind of blessing, never seeing one, until last night
"Silent night, holy night" . . . a low sky
Darkening in the spires of the pines,
The blue-white arc of a streaking star -
A match flaring in the arch of the apse
Of an empty cathedral, lighting candles,
And one by one the ancient gods appear.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2012-12-14 at 15:43
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John Ashleigh |
Lawrence Beck |