Nor city lights,
Nor snow-capped heights,
No diamond-dew bedazzle;
No fickle fire of femme-fatale,
Nor h'raldic grandeur castled!
Rust will gallantry festoon;
cold green moss mark antony's tomb;
crowns of golden Spain's dubloons
blind seas no more remember.
No lauds for me save psalmody--
Love's longing satiates.
Veni Creator Spiritus,
shadow faces in the heather...
"True Love's true love,"
to the unfading prize--
it points, the Way.
Glory's whispers sounded cease.
In You, alone, I found my peace.
O Infinite! (I must decrease)
Veni Creator Spiritus!
Most Sacred Heart of Jesus, make our hearts like unto thine!
* The title for this poem ("Tinsel") was inspired by a homily by Fr. Vincent Hawksell of the Archdiocese of Vancouver, BC. I also dedicate this poem to the Dominican Sisters of Queen of Peace Monastery with whom I celebrated Pentecost and whose desire for solitude, contemplative union with Christ, and detachment from the world is a joyful, inspiring witness.