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A Poem by Jane Kenyon

November 6, 2012

Because it is Election Day. And because in my family we are still waiting, midwives to sorrow. Jane Kenyon herself, died too young, but left behind shreds of beauty and we find this here:
 

 

 


Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the bar, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to it sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed 
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to the air in the lung,
let evening come.

Let it come as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

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I'm a writer, yoga teacher, Lutheran pastor, and music nerd living in New York. I find a feast in daily living - most days, anyway - and write about it here. 

Finalist for the 2017 Chautauqua Prize!
The frank and funny story of a church-geek girl who spent twenty years in the ecclesiastical trenches as a Lutheran pastor, preaching weekly words of hope she wasn’t sure she even believed.