Kathryn Forrester Thro, The Glass Harp

V.
Wanderer

Where shall I find rest?
Wandering on the highways,
Beaten down by life,
One of the nameless poor?
My only work that of
Itinerate artist,
Poet,
My shadow plays and portraits
Such desperations,
Lovers, life, spent, squandered,
But oh the jewel,
(Who cares the price?)
a child, a pearl born to me.

Am I earth mother now?
Somehow, miraculously having
Wombed new life.

Sweet Jesus, tender Mary, patient Joseph,
Father God-Hast Thou
Brought me from wanderer
To Nest?

Let me be Holy Straw.
Scatter me then,
Through the wilderness
Under stars and shooting of moon beams.

I believe.
I believe.
I shall shout it in the streets.
Christ is Risen and rescues.

Rush.
Sing it through the streets, that
The morning is bright and fair.