Angelbread

Angelbread 1

Ever at the end we can find joy,

edge the lawn, cut back ivy

creeping round the chimney breast.

Joy rose in Yeats' friend O'Connor,

who, ever on quitting the old man,

asked himself from whence it came.

Did he, do we, as did Horatio,

ever seek to fill an emptying room

with silent flights of angels singing?

Angelbread 2

The mind is a vestry door

with a bishop's name.

Knock, you will get no answer

but enter and sing a hymn.

It may help you sleep

lest you should weep,

though silence may be best

when we reach our rest.

©Terry Hodgson2025