G B V Jr

I saw a man’s praying place;

A holy spot it seemed.

The wooded hills were to its face,

Where the orb’s first glory beamed.

Atop a ridge, beneath oak,

Beside pines with boughs entwined,

His tears the forest floor did soak.

Kneeling there, likewise,

God’s Spirit joined mine.

– eab, Jul. ’77