Rebecca's post here reminded me of this, which I'd written some time ago and never put up.
The Ache
The honeyed ache of parting,
the sweetness of harsh care,
is like the children by the gravestones
with the sunlight in their hair:
I know the name for sorrow,
the angels' word for grief
that is written in the rainbow;
the name is Heart's Relief.
I have felt the pain of glory
in my throat, behind my face,
in a heart that beats with worry
but is kissed with wild grace.
Clouds weep in brightest sunshine,
the eyes burn with tears unshed,
and the dawn-light of the morning
crowns the flowers of the dead.
Endless rows of crosses
like the leaves in woods of gray
are greeted by the morning
and kissed by dawning day.
I have felt the ache of sorrow
like a stone dislodged from place,
in the throat like endless yearning
for the glory of God's grace.
I know the grace of sadness,
I know the bitter tale,
the grief with roots in gladness,
in the joy that cannot fail.
