The 60-Second Sabbath
where spirit and image merge
Dirk deVries
This the year of repeat sorrow;
grief has ploughed a long, deep furrow,
through the center of my soul.
When again will I feel whole?
Seeds are planted, yet no yield.
Who attends this fallow field?
Patience, heart, the Farmer works,
waters, feeds and care exerts.
Unknown crops will be revealed.
In their time will be revealed.
Text and image © 2012 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Published by
I’ve kept thinking about this poem for the last couple of days. It reminds me of John Donne for some reason. The image of being ploughed, fallowed, not knowing when/how the seeds might sprout, grips me. I find my self reading this (and a few other of your poems over the last few weeks) and worrying and hoping for you, that you are well, and the soul’s winter passes from you.
Mark…thanks. Many of these have been inspired by the losses suffered by a co-worker, who lost not only her sister in the last couple of months, but both of her dogs as well. And this, of course, triggers my own memories and grief from losses over the last decade. Add to that the turning of the season, and it seems like many of my refections have focused on this. Hope you and Ivan are doing well. Hugs, Dirk
Leave a Reply