Justice

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Justice

Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #36

What have I to do with Thy angels
Of haughty demeanour and preened wings,
Bringing to Thy missions cold uncaring eye
That ever shed many a contemptuous sigh!

But I, I of mortal limbs and pickaxe mind
All mine appointed fields assiduously ploughed,
In this barren age I have relentlessly sown
Thy thought’s seed in time to be grown.

By what skewed scale doth Thou measure
Deeds mine and them of luminous vesture?
Weighs same my toils in storms and night
As them who lazily languish in light?

Surely Thy bosom harbours yet justice,
Give it plain voice to fortify Thy edifice.