we made
of love
this holy church –
wherein we breathe
with trust divine
as one beneath
the rafters –
my soul
with yours entwined
graces come
one Sunday eve –
to fill the hours
where we begin
a steeple raised
o sacred light –
our passions to defend
of ancients left
to guard the night
who shall reap
the best of us –
were heaven
but a moment here –
and all we know
of love
. . .
So lovely!
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
Wood, the druids knew the temple unpolluted …
the sweetest temple of all ❤