To Our Lady of Zahle


Michael Walker poem imageMichael Walker, Contributing Writer

Extend your hand grape-laden out to me,
And draw me near unto your beating heart,
Where violet eyes sweet graces doth impart,
The sea’s sweet purity in aught to see.

Soft hands, soft eyes, soft breast all passions quell
When innocence incarnate in my arms
Embraces me to cast out all alarms,
Dissensions of the spirit all to quell.

Oh, how the man of many mysteries
Immersed in darkness of the womb of cave
Or church, enjoys a peace borne on the wave
Of wine-light sea as she, serene, recedes

Into the setting sun, glory to find,
Which felt, will warm, yet seen, will make me blind.


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