Ever After

Ceaselessly on call;

the days manage to compress
ever more duties
into action frenzies,
punctuated by dreamless sleep.

To find the lost,
feed the hungry,
remind and retrain,
to do unto others as self,
but selflessly and never for self,
to fix the broken,
mend the torn,
clean the mess others made,
to be undermined at all turns,
to fit my roundness
into the chipped square concept
of someone else:

This is my world.

But, even so,
the breeze still blows
that calls me
to the foot of the Throne,
where thither I am drawn
by strands of silken thought.

There, golden Sapientia
blinds me with her brilliance,
but, in her mercy,
sings to me songs of

finding hidden treasure,
feeding the flock,
teaching and remembering the Story,
giving through doing and being love,
repairing the breach,
cleansing the temple,
falling and surrendering,
yet to rise again
as a shining light.

She says,
O daughter of Zion,
these gifts I grant
especial to you;
you are among the few
capable gardeners of Eden;
If not you, who?
Serve and be fulfilled.

And so,
from the Throne Room
I return
to my small cell,
the room not quite my own,
to begin the day anew,
to ply the ever after,
to properly tend the garden,
that the young shoots
will grow into trees,
to bloom and be fruitful,
fit homes for birds
whose songs will lull me
to my needed rest.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Off to a rainy patch for a bit of soggy singing, about water, trees and life.  Back on Monday. Have a good weekend!