Silver and Roses, Henna and Myrrh

 

 

To My Ward

 

The sacred Sun his sacred light protracts

Upon the conclaves of the cloistered Earth

And, in the narthex of the dawn, enacts

A holy foreglimpse of the Kingdom’s birth.

Glad should I win thy soul for that blest morn,

For thee inditing scriptures of the Sun.

Glad should I sound annunciation’s horn

When Paradise’s Kingdom has begun.

Place thou a crozier in my loving hand,

A bishopric in mine indulging breast,

That I thy shrine and temple may command

And thee in robes eternal may invest.

Deputed by the Sun, with right I’d be

His vicar and his regent unto thee.

 

 

                        Friday, February 7, 1969

 

Image: http://i1.trekearth.com/photos/64476/img_1288_cloister_black_curves.jpg