Pilgrimage

Hurried feet scramble

over sleepy sacred stairs

The birds still in the cote

awakened by their prayers.

Restless eyes look to the sky

the moon is yet to fade

The sun will open bolted doors

They wait , anixous and dismayed .

The sun , the morn , the altar

When will they be let in ?

Don’t they know

the light they seek outside

is to be found within ?

 

 

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