My heart's no palace.
It's odd that You are here
amongst manure and chaff
in my particular stable.
All my life (it seems)
I've been afraid of blocking You,
"hindering fellowship,"
not being good enough to know
that You are happy here.
Begun by the Spirit,
now I think it's up to me
to finish the good work.
Somehow, in all my trying I forget
that April, also, is Christmas.
Lovely, lovely, Elena!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Dr. Impson! It seems a little melodramatic to say this, but as I learn of God's presence with me in the midst of my mess, I find myself reorienting from despair to hope. It's rather wonderful. Thank you for visiting ~ I always love to see you here or read your words over at Inscapes!
DeleteDear Elena! I've been combing the Our Place archives for the last hour or so. With undiminished amazement. You are among the very best poets I know. (And May 2013 was a very good month.)
ReplyDeleteDo you know Yeats's lines from his Crazy Jane poems: "But Love has pitched his mansion in/ The place of excrement"? Not the prettiest lines, perhaps, but they ring true.
As does this poem.
Wow, that is a powerful line from Yeats--has a bit of a shock to it. And thank you so much for your very kind words!
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