While it is yet dark
Sylvia Read
While it is yet dark,
while disappointment draws
a grey pall over the day,
when minor worries crawl
across your peace like bugs
over a garden wall;
when even work tastes stale,
when friendship drags and bores,
when bones ache, when your heart
is hammered down with an
iron weariness;
when your sky is a black tent…
That very moment
seek out the place
where all your hopes lie dead
in a shroud and buried
underground.
Run, run to that sepulchre!
The angel of the garden
is waiting there for you—
while it is yet dark.