I could not think a prayer

I could not think a prayer,
and so instead I found one –

spreading low and white
along the river below

and for an hour, together
we were slow and driftless

with only the vague intent
to flit and lift,

which is prayer enough
in a temple of trees

making acolytes of ravens
and hymns of the leaves

© Sarah Whiteley

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12 Comments

  1. This brings me close to tears, Sarah. Some years ago I noticed that I can never approach too close to Love (and I mean the real kind here, not all the sham, the self-centred and the masquerades) without the tear ducts stirring.

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