monotony

“Shall I say this morning, yet again, The prayer I prayed through last night’s falling rain?

The first ‘I love You so’

-said some hundred million words ago-

Said again, silent and slow,

Because You already know.

I wonder if, dim and dull from use, You tire of hearing

the chant - predictable; a plod

Of well-worn boots that beat the clod

Of well-worn, time-worn paths.”

…………………………..

I walked at sun’s rising: another clear, fair dawn.

And heard again the sweet, the familiar,

The ruddy-breasted robin call

To a bird in birches, white and tall,

Clean in the young summer sun.

A bold, warm, climbing sun,

Dazzling the dew drops, each one

A diamond. And grass, green and bright

Catching soft, yellow light.

I walked a midnight-path, the hundredth time,

Bewitched by the moon-trance,

Gaze at the star dance,

Brushed by a cool, dry breeze

That rustled through trees

Which cast dark lines

Across the grey ground.

And like each midnight, every hundred misted-midnights that I’d walked before,

I sighed. Delighted.