One of those poems that just come out of nowhere when I was thinking about something else ..
(Incidentally, this is apparently my 400th blog post)
I am no singer, yet this song
Is graven in the bones of me.
I trill and shrill, yet don’t belong:
Come Lord, and set the songless free.
I shiver in a cold, hard wind.
The night is bare, my lips are blue
Yet in this wilderness I find
Your summons to sing after You.
Across the desolates of life
Where morning barks its bitter prose
Your music swirls above my strife
My smart complaining to foreclose.
See now, where nothing can be seen,
The glory at the heart of things:
The minor chords of might-have-been
Transcended as they say, “She sings!”