Though Out Of Favour Poem by james watkin

Though out of favour
We are unforgot.
Though we have wronged Him
By such rueful clues
As abash our lot
Shines out God's pleasure
Of pardon, in signs:
To all the beauties
What Beauty assigns.

Though we have fallen
Soft the grasses are.
Though dark-girt with bonds
Press of cares bespeak
Leave their aging scar
Heaven's sunned balms pour
Through the cracks of sense.
In spring-bird, song-fired
Angelically dense.