Weep, weep, for the sacred ground
Defiled and unearthed for its terrible power.
Weep for the sunlit bright brief hour
Of blue-green waters dancing, and the sound
Of cottonwood leaves. What has been found
More precious than the land where the red rocks tower
And the prickly-pears flower
With sharp-spined sweetness? Weep for the ground.
Weep, weep, for the world's brutal ways,
for the souls who cannot be content
With the earth's lovely gifts, for the passion that lays
Waste to the wilderness, raging unspent
With nothing unscathed in its wake.
Weep for the earth and her dear children's sake.
A sonnet for St. Benedict
5 days ago