A Day Of Pray Poem by Nero CaroZiv

It descended upon the tranquil earth; a holy day of pray
Solemnly the trees leaves whitened in late summer wind play  
Upon a Friday day it fell; blanketing the quiet dry air
Thrice holy was the soundless march to pray; a Godly oar was there  

A world serene; no bell rang to call the folk to holy evening prayer;
With the village streets clean, smooth and fair
From wholesome drench of late summer new rains
The market place was shut, closed windows and doors; no gains

And, on the western window panes,
The warm sunset faintly glowed and told
Of matured golden wheat stumps and green vegetation standing bold
Thorny bushes with hardened yellow thorns stretched along winding lanes

I bent down in the yard to talk to the dry thorny bloomless hedge,
I used to chat with trees and bushes along creeks with spring-tide sedge,
Long gone the primroses of last spring by sheltered rills,
And daisies and daffodils on the aguish saddened hills.


Double thrice holy was the day of pray;  people arriving late 
The silent, solemn  streets were crowded with prayers at the gate 
With staid and pious companies,
Warm summer dusk wearing white on their oratories,


At the far West a vesper moved with demurest airs
Such a holy heavenly scenery to the throng of prayers.
On each arched porch and entry low
There was filled with family folk contemplative in pray slow,


So haughty was the air; no whispers all hush, and no shuffling feet,
While the voice of the holy man played loud and sweet.
Then the singing  had ceased, the prayers begun,
Their soundless swaying; the pray had not yet half done


I covered my patched pants; were newly torn,
During that all day long, from earliest morn
She a young maid had taken captive my two eyes
As she stood against ancient books in golden binderies;


Perplexed I watched her with a thousand thoughts and things,
In the house of pray; the stars of Heaven, and angels' wings,
The holy sages wisdom proclaimed in a fiery blaze,
Her golden hair abundant in locks shining in azure rays,


Golden wheat field swayed in a desert dusk breeze
Willows boughs whitened; aspen quivered at ease
Little breeze raised dust and did whirl and shiver
And the thorny cactus face slightly did quiver
 

That half night I wasted in sighs
Half in dreams I was never able to re-dream after
That night I knew the delight of such happy laughter
The delight in finding all replies

Since then never shall I forget the delight of early skies
A young boy half her size in a wakeful dose I sorrow
For the ivory skin hand,  voluptuous lips and slaying eyes
By the end of the holy day I would not see tomorrow


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