Spiritual Transformation Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

It seemed somehow I was again awake,
and yet old life was now all passed away.
Some span of days when my aged ghost would take
branched hermitage for manor, and I'd pray
for scriptured leaves that nourished holy time!
And raised on high in terrace of the trees
I then proclaimed: 'Green, green melds Spirit's prime-
and woodland force writes hymns for choired breeze.'
But then I fell from Grace and friends declined.
I seemed as dead, slight breath, sighs spun in rope
and fever raged in blankets I designed.
Then quickened strength cracked chrysalis with hope.
God's rainbow-angel glorified in sky.
The Lord sparks up old darkness: butterfly.