A Sacred Kind Of Morning

All night my heart had burned an ember’s ache

till after dawn I rose and walked the bank

and entered somehow into earth’s first morn

the birds in silent worship and the hills

trice blessed by light and water, incensed haze,

a mist that hung like tabernacles veil

the sunlight on the holy water’s tongue

all made my spirit groan, a happy grief,

no poem or prayerful brush could capture, cage,

the solemn mystery of creation’s praise,

it was, in short, a sacred king of morning.

 

From Brendan Connolly's anthology, The Bridle Path,

prepared for publication and edited by Brian Bingham,

available : www.amazon.com/author/brendanconnolly

 

 

 

Next edition of Automatic Pilot available in print and digital format in July 2021.

Closing date for submissions, 15th June 2021.