Tuesday brings no dutiful deacon

Nor member of the fold;

The church is ringed about outside

With Autumn leaves and cold;

A distant sun with teasing light

Dances the windowsill

With slender shadows

‘Neath the bend

Of the flower time shall kill.

Old widow Gray on Sunday last

Offered the bloom in taste,

Placing it with black-gloved hands

Upon the sill envased.

All who heard  the Word of God

That morning saw the act – 

Black fingers ‘round a golden face

For a moment’s timeless pact.

The Church Flower