On this bright morn the birdsong is a prayer
Chimed across the Norwich fields and meadows
Chorused in jubilation,
Spreading its beauty
Across the sunlight and silence
Unfolding its ecstasy
To earthly kingdoms
And to realms beyond
And on this day, within my anchorage
Blessed by my wounds
And after long seclusion and reflection,
I recognise no wrath in our creator
The quill upon the parchment
Remembers and relates
The love and the compassion
Of Mother Christ
I fathom no sin in man
As I reflect
That imperfection is our road to God.
Much has been shown to me
Of things divine,
Much can be read
Within my revelations
But you need only
To listen to the birdsong,
Reminding us of truths forgotten,
Disclosing the sweet reality
That all things shall be well.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem