Sonnet #242

Where is the patron saint of happiness, of things

and people never lost, of a health that blossoms

self and painless mornings and easy losses?

All our prayers to call away the sufferings

Seem to breed dependence on the Lord

As if this world of suffering is built to bleed us

Until we must cry out for grace to relieve us

And saints must help those tuggers on their cord.

 

Lord, grant us saints of happiness, of everyday

Get out of beds, of Morning coffee, whistled tunes,

And tousled hair late in the day, where we stay

Among the rushes, among the birdsongs, stay

Lord, grant us patron saints of all those lazy afternoons

Of peaceful copper sunsets, and brilliant early moons.

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s