The air scent heavy with the morning rain
As tall as the cathedral spire looking to heaven.
Tumbling out of the sky in big dollops falling
To the ground forming puddles.
I remember the smell of the polished wooden pews
As I entered the cathedral and the smell of wet
Clothing mingling together, a musty odour
Sometimes found in old wardrobes.
I remember the brass cross on the Communion table
Like the one I saw in Paris, with all the home thoughts
From abroad. It had rained there too, a softer rain that
Kissed your face like a sprinkling of Holy water.
Upturned faces looking at lofty beams and arches
Like tall masts of ships with lines of rigging pointing
To God in heaven asking for a blessing and a safe
Passage.Just to see this life through.
Outside the rain came down glistening the pavement
With a shine as people walked about their day
Looking for the meaning of life in all its complexity
And seeking answers to their existence.
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Comments about this poem (Expectations by David Wood )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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