The dome's vault blue <br />is clear, <br />Chicken Little is out of a job. <br />The acolytes come <br />softly floating from distant woods <br />across fields - <br />dog asks if there is some mistake - <br />thirty come to worship <br />minus three fawns <br />without one bell to call. <br /> <br />Light fades <br />the last hikers <br />retreat from the trails <br />even aircraft <br />passing overhead <br />seem muted. <br /> <br />The great cathedral <br />is deserted and silent <br />God listens <br />and from my butane lighter <br />a holy fire burns <br />as candles are not lit.<br /><br />Bill Grace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/worshipping-with-deer/
