Sunday Comfort Poem by Diana van den Berg

Like the slow-note embrace of evensong,
heavy-scented on the darkening air;
like the sky diffused with sun-paintings,
blessing my muddied fingers
and my horse’s
gardened grave;
like the sunrise strokes
on trunk edges
in honour of the dawn chorus;
so is this, my quivering Sunday morning,
in this hallowed place of adoration,
a coat of many stained-glass colours,
bonding song with all that is sunbeam-pure.

(13 August 2006)