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Tuesday, January 7, 2014



The hour of the Angelus.
The shortest day of the year.
The room all but deserted
But for the figure resting
On the bed, not on light depending.

Hail Mary. The grace of sleep
Through her fine bones
Lift her to vision.
Elizabeth in the next room
Hears nothing, but the soft light
Has a music to it.

Be it done unto me according
To thy word.  The language of flowers.
The angel may or may not have
Beautiful wings, may or may not
Be genuflecting next to Mary,
May or may not be whispering,
May or may not be a dreaming,
But the soft light has a music to it.

O res merabilis!  Unaque poscimus
Sic nos tu visita,  ad lucem quam inhabitas.

 What wonder! We beg of you

That you visit us, the light in which you dwell.

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