Epithalamium
Lucy Grace Bell 21st July 2018
On other days,
Dawn slides over night’s darkness,
Dull to the stirrings that are roused:
The cracked warblings of the birds’ chorus,
The rasp of traffic, scratching at the light,
Domestic snufflings and the rush of plumbing.
On other days, on other days…
But not this morning; this morning,
The horizon is haloed by the eastern sky;
The sounds of a turning world
Kiss the day awake.
The merle’s trilling greeting
Melts the birds’ cacophony
And every song is a sheer-blue, soaring call.
The swelling warmth frees summer’s scents
To waft like incense
And questing insects dance between the pollen-stores.
All drudgery is brushed aside
Now chores are nothing less
Than symbols of the ordinary extra-ordinariness
Of living.
Some graciousness abroad lifts the veil.
A fresh brightness leaps quick and keen:
Strangers smile at strangers with their eyes;
More than pleasantries are uttered;
Little acts of kindness are commonplace.
For every sense is sharp aware
That through the warp and weft of the world,
Like spun gold woven through a tapestry,
The sacred peal rings clear:
Ubi lux et gratia sunt, amor est.
Deo gratias!
D.N.M.