The Cloth

Pieces of time

Tarnished silver and gold

Found in the dust

Polished now, can be sold

Still in the darkness

Holding an empty cup

Waiting for the rain

To fill it up

The cloth that polished

The others so clear

Never was used

On what was so near

Pulled to the center

By silent devotion

Echoed the depth

Of this loving commotion

From the core

Came the sound

Voice of the soul

That which was found

A request of love

Directed within

Would sooth the burns

And heal the wounds of the sins

Drinking the herbs

From a cup made of glass

Was the prayer

For this holy Mass

Raven