Make Home
Published on May 20, 2022
Make Home
Sonnet — An Invocation To The Master #363
Far recedes the thousand-voiced world,
Faint grows the murmur of many cares,
On some hidden perch I seem seated
Watching this retreating wave of forms.
Oh who is it breathing it all in,
The joys and cares back to the source
Leaving me empty and pristine
Like a new-born sleeping simply is?
Like a weather-worn fresco on time’s wall
Some traces of an old outline yet remain,
To what end all moves who can tell,
Save Thee by whom all this is done.
O Thou who embarked me on the human cycle,
Make home by Thy feet for my wearied soul.