Deep down in the clay and soil
Where the worms and brethren toil
Roots of all my garden shrubs
Twine in their long lust and love.
Invisible yet holy life,
Sacramental, without price.
Love is hidden in the dark
Waiting for the spirit’s spark
Uncountable the ants and bees
The insects on old hawthorn trees
Our own souls are destitute
We are turned to market fruit.
Until when we die, at last
We provide the worms repast
Love is gentle,love is kind
Where is love when we are bound?
People prisoners in their strip
Prefer death to soldiers’ whip
People, all beloved of God,
Who will hold the judging rod?
What was chosen may be spurned
When the love to grey death turns
No past choice is ever bound,
As the deer falls to the hounds.
How my heart sings 