The Fallen

There are ways among the bowers
Where counted numbers pass.
Steps nodded by by flowers
But barely stir the grass,
As though ethereal notion
Is all these ways have known,
And yet may some devotion
See drops fallen on the stone.

Wander the streets and sidewalks
That grid and ring the town
In that muted hush the hour unlocks
When the gibbous moon lies down.
There plain on ways deserted
Busy throngs may press the lone.
Devotion thus concerted
Sees drops fallen on the stone.

For symphonies unconducted,
For brush strokes yet unviewed,
On stave lines unconstructed,
Bright canvas unsubdued,
Once burned with staunch emotion
The souls of masters known;
As an honest soul’s devotion
Sees drops fallen on the stone.

Who will see the land unseen
The counted travel through
—They who see our duty clean—
And pay the payment due.
And who will pass in blindness,
Passing free yet often shown
Sacred markers that remind us
Of drops fallen on the stone.

   posted by Stephen at 2:31 PM | Plink