On the coldest night
The streetlight beams This is joy, too.
In the unkempt place
Litter windblown arches and swirls,
This is joy, too.
In the broken heart
Breath caressing blood beats
This is joy, too.
In the aging body faltering
Soft to the touch flesh pulses
This is joy, too.
When life is cut short
Sorrows sinews softly puck
This is joy, too.
When all is well
And all is not, trust that This is joy, too.
Maria Lockhart
Misericord from Winchester College