A Tabernacle Open
The green begins to rise through richness of
The sunrise-reddish brown across the fields
In Windsor. Sparkling gems peak up above
The corduroy earth. This vista yields
A beauty rivalling, surpassing Crown
Jewels glistening. Pheasants stand as still as God
Among the dewdrops which have settled down
On grass stalks sparkling gently through the sod
While moving birds (and trees), though less splendid
Than autumn’s rigid cock, are sacred in
This light. Today glory condescended
On royal ground. This farmland is akin
To sky and heaven, or at least the growth
Thus borne is holy brightness for them both.