[a google dot com image]
Joyful joyful sang the angels
To chords of night called so holy
Strains of shepherds piped chorals
Could not contest them worthy
Thence the cries of hosannas
As the ass his burden bore
Then that place of sorrowful coronas
In shrouded garments to endure
Hear that sound of cracking sky
When his head bowed of nails abusive
To feet and palms oh hear his cry
With gentle heart he did forgive
REDEEMING GRACE © gillena cox 2016
You've heard about the Monday Blues ❧✿❧ well this is Monday WRites (musing on the definition here of rite, as any customary observance or practice eg the rite of afternoon tea).
Welcome to Monday WRites #53, ❧✿❧ Todays write is linked to The Imaginary garden with real toads❧✿❧ Whats your mood like today ❧✿❧ I invite you to link in with one of your WRites
Written for Outlawyer's prompt
Under an Influence; Anxiety Lost In Translation; Blocking Writer's Block- Weekend Mini!
THE CHALLENGE: Take a poem written by someone else. It doesn't have to be a favorite poem, but one that interests you. It can be a poem written in English, or another language, if you prefer (but that's up to you.) Read the poem a few times over, ingest it. Then sit down and write your own poem.
inspiration for my poem is from John Milton's The Passion
Erewhile of musick, and ethereal mirth,
Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring,
And joyous news of heavenly Infant's birth,
My Muse with Angels did divide to sing;
But headlong joy is ever on the wing,
In wintry solstice like the shorten'd light,
Soon swallow'd up in dark and long out-living night.
For now to sorrow must I tune my song,
And set my harp to notes of saddest woe,
Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long...[click the link to read his whole poem]