BY DR. AGONSON
On the nineteenth of October
in the golden, sunset hour,
I stepped outside to watch the embers
glowing on the evergreens.
Dark trees with gilded crowns
shadow our home,
and as the light streamed through their boughs
life became a poem.
I was in a picture, in a frame,
a scene on a stage—
this was beauty, I was in it,
a glimpse of bliss from trouble’s cage.
The roof needs done, the deck needs done,
the debts cannot be paid.
I’ve long been sick and out of work,
my nerves are all quite frayed.
A spider danced upon the air
its support invisible to me.
A bird, not a sparrow,
flew past my face into a tree.
I bowed my head,
“Your will,” I said,
and then, to my surprise,
on the raising of my eyes,
His rainbow, faint but true,
there dimly in my view.
Tale Told 