the paddock gate has closed on day
and dusk’s fence
has culled the colours from the sun
I watch the mother of all musters
graze the night.
My childhood questions long ago
re the stars
and their what and why and when
are answered now
with quasars, crabs, quarks and holes.
But these don’t hold a candle
to the stories told me then
of angels tending flocks
across the fields of heaven.
When the priest who married my wife and me heard I wrote poetry, he asked me for a poem to put in his parish newsletter. I sent him this.
Tuesday Poem for more poems this week.
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