Profit and loss

by

Frank S Rickards

The cock crows—
Not a red, up-tongued,
Green-edge-of-the-day cry,
But in the far-away,
Almost a call.

He had sent me, the priest,
To walk the hills alone
And tell him how I stood—
With God or with the world.

I remember the shepherds at their tent
And how they bowed and offered me
The bitter milk-cheese of their sheep
And how their grave courtesy stayed with me
Until the long day had gone
And high over the Umbrian hills
Stars began to needle the night.

Without prayer I lay down and slept.
And then the dawn, sudden and clear,
Swept the stars from the night,
And the cock crew
--Not a red, up-tongued,
Green-edge-of-the-day cry,
But in the far-away,
Almost a call.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Speak of love only
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

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