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Church Flower



Tuesday brings no dutiful deacon
nor member of the fold;
the church is ringed about outside
with autumn leaves and cold;
a distant sun with teasing light
dances the window-sill
with shadows made 'neath the slender bend
of the flower time shall kill.

Old widow Gray on Sunday last
offered the bloom in taste,
placing it with black-gloved hands
upon the sill, envased.
And all who heard the Word of God
that morning saw the act;
black fingers 'round a golden face
for a moment's timeless pact.

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copyright circa 1970s, 2007 Elias Alias

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