Friday, January 27, 2012
St. Rose is the patron saint of florists and gardeners. St. Vitus is the patron saint of dancers. St. Clare is the patron saint of television. Hank Williams is the patron saint of song writing and hard living.
This week I gravitate back to all of them, and Saint Emily Dickinson, patron saint of unto-selfness with unexpected triumphs, right in the midst of my gluttonous Feast of Saint Bob Dylan, patron saint of authentic mask-wearers.
This, today, sent from Emily:
I shall keep singing!
Birds will pass me
On their way to Yellower Climes-
Each - with a Robin's expectation
I - with my Redbreast -
And my Rhymes -
Late - when I take my place in summer -
But - I shall bring a fuller tune -
Vespers - are sweeter than Matins - Signor -
Morning - only the seed of Noon -