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Sunday Morning
Sunday morning and the church bell
invades the consciousness of
last night's social butterflies,
Who draw the sheets about their heads
and shun the light
and life of the new day.
A shaft of sunlight streams through
the stained glass, dusty green,
pierces the clouds of incense,
dipping and twirling and rising, laden with
the prayers of the faithful,
And casts a bright blue pool of
woolen grace upon the floor.
The sanctus bell jingles urgently -
once, twice, thrice.
We are in the presence of the Almighty,
the reverent quiet tells it all.
This is where life is
and this is where heaven begins.
Julie Hooke 1-2-2004
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