Little Chapel's, City-Hid Poem by james watkin
Little Chapel's, City-Hid
With eve's ill-timed dread, each walk
In a stupor, rain-glazing
Of whose hand, in its saving light
Snatched was I, orange-blazing?
This, for a despondent weight
At one's feeling-centre hung
Replied, with spasm-like actions.
Faith's the muscle again rung!
Sunday, June 23, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: city,spiritual
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8/19/2025 4:05:00 PM # 1.0.0
