A SAINT'S HOURS
In the still cold before the sun
HER LAUDS Her brothers and her sisters small
She woke, and washed and dressed each one.
And through the morning hours all,
PRIME Singing above her broom, she stood
And swept the house from hall to hall.
At noon she ran with tidings good
TERCE Across the field and down the lane
To share them with the neighborhood.
Four miles she walked and home again,
SEXT To sit through half the afternoon
And hear a feeble crone complain;
But when she saw the frosty moon
NONES And lakes of shadow on the hill
Her maiden dreams grew bright as noon.
She threw her pitying apron frill
VESPERS Over a little trembling mouse
When the sleek cat yawned on the sill,
In the late hours and drowsy house.
COMPLINE At last, too tired, beside her bed
She fell asleep … her prayers half said.
IN MEMORY OF L.H.W.
He began life characteristically, depreciated and disparaged. When he was a white, thin, big-headed baby, his mother, stripping the suds from her lean arms, used to inveigh to her neighbors against his existence. "Wa'n't it just like that do-less Lem Warren, not even to leave me foot-free when he died, but a baby coming!"