A Song at Day’s End

Singing Praise, Margaret Mair, original art

Singing Praise, Margaret Mair, original art

 

There is a small wooden house
In a hot dusty yard
With a straggle of plants
And one shady tree,
Roots running close to the surface
So the earth strains
To close protectively over them.
She keeps that house clean
And that yard tidy
And struggles to grow
Her little provisions
In the dry earth
That drifts in a fine dust
Across her worn-bare wooden floors;
Rises early to make
Her long trek down
To the water pipe
So she can come up hill
Before the sun’s fire
Grows too hot.
At end of day
The slant of evening’s light
Makes motes in the dust
Floating lightly above the floor,
And she picks up the old guitar
That hides behind the door,
Sits by her doorway
And bends her head
So she can hear the touch
Of her hard working fingers
On the strings
Against the frets
As she tunes.
Then music lifts her,
Voice and notes and soul,
Above the hard darkness
Of life on the edge
Of outside.

 

Written by Margaret Mair
Painting, original art by Margaret Mair
 
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