The Grotto
What has it done to my life to see you again?
Robed in the splendor of late winter’s downy flake,
Revered by the frost-bitten petals asleep at your feet,
Shielded from the wind’s whispered fury by the gray grotto stone.
Oh, how the choirs of candles below sing your glory,
Piercing the darkness that steals past the guard at your gate
(Golden words faded and woven in smooth silver parchment -
a dying man’s wishes frozen and sealed under glass).
Over my shoulder, I see what the letter describes –
The snowflakes disguising the lake that will blossom in spring,
The well-beaten pathway that students traverse year around,
And off in the distance a park bench in view of the Dome.
What has it done to my life to see it all again –
Our Lady’s statue, the lake and Tom Dooley’s words,
A path too familiar, too long to walk without you
On a winter’s night bathed in memories and dried by the wind.
DAB
