Thursday, March 12, 2026

A prayer

The players bow; the watchers rise.
The program printed on the page
Has reached its end, and now no eyes
But God's alone are on the stage.
    The curtain falls; they file away.
    I have not yet begun to play.

Now comes a dark both thick and deep,
And misty paths before me lie.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
And let me wake before I die,
    That I, a-fasting through this night,
    May taste again thy golden Light.

3 comments:

SK Orr said...

Thank you for this poem, William. Striking and --for some reason -- unnerving.

Wm Jas Tychonievich said...

Thanks, SK. Good to see a familiar face around these parts.

By the way, I know I'm the worst email correspondent in the world, but I do have something a-brewing for you. To be delivered soon, perhaps.

Anonymous said...

That was lovely William!
And, oh, SK! I have been wondering how you are, and your wife? And Jinx & Bluebelle? I pray you are all doing well!!
Carol
p.s. Wm, if SK doesn't see this, would you just pass along my well-wishes, when next you contact him?
Carol

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