Through the rain

 Through the rain


Through the rain splattered attic window

The town looms ghostly in the early gloom

A quiet Sunday like all others

With sea gulls calling o’er the empty town. 


The morning’s mine in these wee hours 

Young altar servers still lie in bed

Harvesting sleep’s last few minutes

Before the call to prayer is heard. 


On future days we’ll embrace these hours

When nothing happened and all was grey

And life stood still on a damp Sunday

Fresh morning coffee tasted real. 


The sky is brightening in the East

The daily show we take for granted

Clouds and sky behind St. Michael’s

Rising high above Dun Leary. 


I’ll give the news a little miss

Allow my soul to filter peace 

Remember those who need my prayers

Far and near, from west to east.


Slippered feet upon the wooden floor

Enough for me who needs no more

Than a welcome from our faithful dog

Whose tail reveals the joy of life. 

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