This image hadn’t meant much
But after yesterday I understand
The Sun, the cynosure of my day sky,
Can disappear—not o’er horizon,
Nor cloud, nor any cause that’s close at hand;
But because of reasons all celestial
And a timing that I never could have planned.
Without the shadows lengthened,
Warmth is drained, the colours bland;
After a momentary chaos, all birds fall silent,
And grasses whisper in the cold, sharp wind:
God restore your sacred land!
I hold on; so does nature—
Ev’rything under the sky.
And when the moment’s least expected
Breaks the dawn in colours grand.
Ev’ry blade is now illumined,
ev’ry bird bursts up to light.
I only had to hold on,
Until the time of restoration
Issued forth at God’s command.