Third Week of Lent
A burning bush in desert grows,
infused with bright auroral gold;
it burns the world with heaven's grace,
reflecting truth from God's own face,
yet does not burn from ceaseless fire.
The ash is falling from the clouds,
the flame is burning bright and clear,
and though I be but mortal clay,
I hope like glimmer sparking day
to rise myself like glowing dawn.
Undine undying, undo your charm,
untie the bonds that may work us harm;
in depths all unending, on deep dreaming sand,
deny us not, undine, the help of your hand.