Sunday, April 08, 2007

The Palms

8 April 2007, 10:50 AM

So many things have been eaten
by the locusts, but not this moment,
sacred as it is- Robyn rests
beneath the shade of palms, in the shelter
of the Nave, gazing up through longish
leaves which leave their outlines on her
face and in her mind- someday not so soon
she’ll leave this place behind, but not
this moment. In some way, big or small,
she’ll remember the incense, the darkness,
these haunting hymns,
and the palms.


Anonymous said...

Good morning! Christ is risen! Are you as sore as I am this morning?

Anonymous said...

oops that was me, Lisa

audrey said...

I like this poem alot! it inspires me to write a poem.... we'll see how that goes. :-)

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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