Liquid Night
The night has stolen every sound,
The birds have taken to their hidden roost,
Tis veritably hallowed ground,
With reverence and gratitude induced.
The shrines aside the mossy track,
The crucifixes stalwart in the peat,
The hidden ghosts in stony black,
Ephemeral their congregations meet.
The cosmos scattered wide in pink,
The dainties so adoringly displayed,
With now a bob and now a wink,
Ebullience so sweet and unafraid!
The elm in twisted majesty,
The trunk distinctly gnarled against the sky,
The stars a spangled tapestry,
With fair Orion gravitating high.
I keep a soft solemnity—
Awareness of the keepers of the past,
My prayerfulness indemnity,
Against the curses emanating vast.
The witches of the eastern ridge,
Who garner sport with innocents and babes,
Casting them from off the bridge,
Or plotting magic by their astrolabes.
For evil is a rampant thing,
Tis but the cross can neutralise its grip,
The intervention of the king,
To stay the heart when our defences slip.
So once again I speak the prayer—
The rosary along the beaded string,
Through liquid night with solemn air,
Tis to the saints I reverently sing…
🎵🎶
