RC De Winter, poet

RC deWinter, poet

In a plain white church
we gathered, waiting for music.
Cold northern sunlight streamed in
through tall mullioned windows
paned with the wavy glass
found only in the oldest
of New England buildings.

Although alien to me,
drenched as I am in the tradition
of incense, painted statuary
and Gothic stone,
I settled comfortably into
the simplicity.

And then the music –
filling that small space
with majesty.
It took to me to a place
where I could close my eyes
and, unseeing, smile.

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