The interval

A poem for Holy Saturday

The largo’s final chord has softly died
Away and now we wait the thrilling change
To glorious major key when every theme
Of desolation, loss and grief, explained

In starkly haunting counterpoint, at last
Find full and total resolution. Yet
In this brief space such poignant melodies
Still echo deep and we must not forget

When standing to applaud our Maestro’s work
How hope is forged so often through despair
Or how so many only know those slow,
Dark notes that yield no consolation, where

The hints of coming joy cannot be heard
And heavy silence often is preferred.

4 Apr 26