Dorothy Davis-Sellick
Through a glass
Lights from this distance and through window glass
Shimmer like stars, lending the brightness of
A Christmas tree to a dull winter's day.
History, so, seen through the haze of years
Assumes an aspect that perhaps it lacked
For those who once endured it. Only, now,
The more emphatic moments filter through
As tragedy, heroics and the rest.
We cannot smell the stench or see the mud
Of the black death or Flanders' bloody fields.
We still preserve the buildings but have lost
The sense of glory and of mystery
Which built them; cherishing symbolic shells
Whose kernels withered fruitlessly, long since.
We see the crucifix without the blood.
Page(s) 29
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