SERENADE
Your name more fragrant, Mary,
than sage in summer showers,
bounds my far horizons,
rims my fickle skies
as mountains gay with springtime,
garlanded with blossoms,
as mountains gashed with crimson
when lingering summer dies.
My songs are sea gulls, Mary,
wheeling around your beauty,
your beauty cool and gold-flecked
as glades where aspens grow...
tranquil as the dreaming
clouds on mistry summits,
fair as aged cedars
hushed and heaped with snow.
Sister M Philip
In: Robert. 1944
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