The celestial spheres silently roll,
The frozen sun sits, gazes, grows full;
Three-hundred plus suns, yet rising from one,
Round whom bodies must live, unless out-run.

One sun sets, rises, another awakes,
Obeys his father, his dear duty takes,
Daily toils in his terrestrial trade,
Humbly he lowers both body and spade.

Spuds, sprouts, carrots, corn and the waving wheat,
Rise from dusty dirt despite the sun’s heat;
Father, mother, son to earth’s goodness raise
Glasses with gladness, the Father they praise.

Brave liturgy! The silent soul’s routine,
Obeys the Son’s law, its praise it may preen;
Our weekly rotations, on bended knees,
Shall daily make our knees weak and minds freeze.

Broom Snow,
Written at the Desert Schooner,
Las Vegas, Nevada
November 9, 2015

Painting: “Wallasey Old Church and Manor House, Wirral, C. 1853”
By Harold Hopps,
Oil on board, n.d.


Leave a Reply

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

You are commenting using your 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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s