More Sacred than a Spiritual Crocus
A blossom holds more steady than the flare
Above a candle in the air of night.
As steady as a young nun’s golden prayer
Before the altar, yellow blossom’s height
Is reaching up for God or higher to
Agape love itself above that throne.
The bud is yellower than Mary knew
When precious metal, previously unknown
To her virginity, was laid before
Her on the hallowed stable dirt. The bloom
Would be as steady as the stable floor,
As steady as the newborn baby’s doom.
If winter is as cold as winter wants
To be, no wind will move. This coldness haunts.
~ Phillip Whidden