Sprintedon Hollow

December 20


Lord, Person Supreme,
forgive me for my forgetfulness

of those I have gamed with
and half-an-hour later no longer known,

and those close acquaintances of a year or more
whose names, if not faces, will not return;

the memory You have given me, good,
is neither always quick nor long;

so, I try to accept it, hoping
that through these words I may/ a tad atone

for its hurtful, embarrassing faults;
and in one small way again bless--

or in more than one way:
like the notes of a moving song,

the sparklings of snow on a pine,
the delicate highs in a fern.





for copyright information see homepage     Brian A. J. Salchert                  

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