I bear the griefs of time.
I feel the scars of breath
and lean upon my cane,
bent by the heavy years.
A small wound, freshly hacked
as in the twisted trunk
of some old olive tree
by a clean, kindly blade —
a clean, kind blade of words
that sang upon the breeze —
has drawn forth hidden sap
and turned my mind in pain.
But cool air bites my skin,
soft sunlight through the trees,
shadows on verdant lawns,
and fountain's steady splash
all take away the sting.
O Night, you've cleansed the world!
Your daily sacrament
allows my living heart
to love another day.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hym-to-night/
