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Poem of the Month - November 2003
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Early Evening Psalm
from Gathering Wild

Easily as the dandelion lets
its thousand down stars loose
on the first breeze that asks,
heavy-eyed in her twilit cot
my infant is falling asleep.

And softly,
lullaby, that slow hymn
drifts up by itself
lifting and lifting,
from some bonfire rising
to a lofty canopy of trees
where it meets the last light
filtering through before dark.

Like the scent of mock-orange
once more on the wind,
the sweetness amazes.

Whatever pleases you, take,
all my throat can hold
of these praises, child, Lord;

gentle as darkness,
natural as drowsing, they're grace
and right as the peace
death must be for the good.

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