“The day is done and all the fields lie fallow,
One thing is needful, one voice calls your name.”
From the Sonnet “Pilgrimage” for Kate Gross, by Malcolm Guite
Selection from “Parable and Paradox”
Sometimes a poem rises up and words pour out after reading another writers’ work. Here’s what I was inspired to pen after reading the above lines in Malcolm Guite’s sonnet.
What if, plowing, the farmer
should find finished
the fields, sheaves all in
and bewildered, be turned
towards home to hear,
“no more, no more?” Sowing
done, Earth’s floor is
Heaven’s now, seeds have
sprouted, bloomed, grown.
Every soul planted in
Heaven’s soil is gathered in.
“Pray that we learn the lost arts of our past/The arts of letting go and sowing seeds,
That secrets of the lowly and the least/Might save us from the dreadful things that last.”
“In Praise of Decay”, ibid.
Let things die.
Their death is fertile soil
for what will be birthed behind.
Why do we cling so strongly, hang
on to life, fearful of sure death?
Perhaps it is our own transitory nature…
we have eternity knit in our hearts–
we will live forever–just not here.
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