I had expected a different day:
a day of light, symbolic radiance,
such as one associates with this great Feast.
But it was overcast, no bright sunray
struck the tinder on any dull flower;
and sparrows chirruped a hardly felt cheer.
In my prayers, too, all felt muted, though true,
and all too sought for were their sullen pearls.
On this of all days! There was a message.
Brightness? Such as the sun patches the earth?
This the random inheritance of days.
And the prevailing gloom? Picking up, gleam
by lost gleam, Christ's call to prayer
and penance, on Mary's shining day.
(In the Roman Catholic calendar, 15 August is the Feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God, who is believed to have been taken bodily into heaven.)
