Our Quarrel
Poem — An Invocation to The Master #220
Published on December 18, 2021
Our Quarrel
Poem — An Invocation to The Master #220
In my heart are rocky vasts solid and mute,
I hew them with thought and mint my words
To craft for Thee an ode and lyric and sonnet,
Each day I let it fly to Thee by aspiration’s wings.
Each day my courier-fire comes back forlorn
Saying, “Oh He cares not to open his door,
So I come back to thee crestfallen and sullen,
Why dost thou dispatch me to this aim poor?”
Said I, “O fire, traveller to the far hemisphere,
Be not in haste to judge His subtle ways,
For when most uncaring He doth appear
His heart hath inched to us ever close.
Be not dismayed by His recalcitrant ways,
To that barred gate thou must yet go,
For the heart that persists eventually wins
Is all the philosophy thou must know!”
Be as it may our long unfinished quarrel,
I’ll let none breach our dispute’s interval!