MIDNIGHT SERVICE

Posted by Admin on Sunday, 1st June 2008, 00:00

The lych-gate glistens, moonlit, in the rime,
a midnight service runs its formal course;
I brood – the barren years, the squandered time,
the self-indulgence, breed, too late, remorse.

I listen there to carols from within,
outsider, lone, to whom the sound relays
fresh revelations of omission’s sin –
new knowledge of a life misused conveys.

Nocturnal voices, carolling their praise,
from mediaeval nave reproaches bring;
explicit, hallowed, tender, every phrase –
my heart, too full, must break to hear them sing.

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.

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