His blanket

Sunday rest.


A poem for Covid times:


Some keep the Sabbath going to Church

I keep it, staying at Home

With a Bobolink for a Chorister

And an Orchard, for a Dome


Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice

I, just wear my Wings

And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,

Our little Sexton

sings.


God preaches, a noted Clergyman

And the sermon is never long,

So instead of getting to Heaven, at last

I’m going, all along.


Emily Dickinson