! In The Spirit Of Rumi - 20 Poem by Michael Shepherd

I sang to My Beloved

O My Beloved –
how could I sing of the joy
of being closer to You
than Your breath…
than Your eyes…
than Your lips…

if Sorrow had not visited me? …

In the middle of the darkest night
in the cold midwinter of the heart,
a stranger knocked upon my door:
it was Sorrow, wrapped in blackest cloak.

I greeted Sorrow; bade come in;
ate bread with Sorrow and drank wine with it;
then with a smile, sent Sorrow on its way.

Now the sun has risen,
the dawn is like a world made new
and I have woken fresh
as if I had already washed.



[this one comes with a smile for Allie, who occasioned it...]