The O Antiphons and Prayers to accompany them

These “O” antiphons express the theology of Advent and are the season’s brightest jewels. The incarnation of the Son, salvation, the pursuit of our redemption until the end of time — these are the constant themes of Advent theology. From them we can see that the celebration of Advent, like that of Christmas, has its true center in the paschal mystery, wherein the death and resurrection of Christ accomplishes our salvation.

December 17 - 1st Antiphon: O WISDOM

O WISDOM, O holy Word of God, you govern all creation with Your strong yet tender care. Come and show Your people the way to salvation.

Prayer: Christ, the Word of the Father, through all the ages You have cared for Your people as a shepherd his flock, as a mother her child, as a potter his clay. Be present to us who cry out for Your compassionate, helping hand. Help us to be faithful to those values which You taught us by Your life and Your love. May we find Your presence in the needs of the poor and abandoned around us. Amen.

Closing Prayer: We come here to call on our God to come to us, to be with us. The title Emmanuel, God-with-us, was given to Christ many centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah. Emmanuel symbolizes God’s great love for us -- so great that God put aside His Divinity and took on our humanity. We pray for our God to draw closer to us as individuals and as members of a community. We assemble before God as representatives of the people of the earth, eager to see peace and justice reign on the face of our troubled world. We pray to the Father, for the coming of the Son, through the working of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

December 18 - 2nd Antiphon: O ADONAI

O LORD OF ISRAEL, who showed Yourself to Moses in the burning bush, who gave him the holy law on Sinai mountain: Come, stretch out Your mighty hand, to set us free.

Prayer: Lord, our God, reveal Yourself to us in the persons, circumstances, and events of each day, especially in those who need our time and talents. Open our eyes to recognize Your workings in all that happens to us; keep us open to Your coming to us in the unusual events and surprises of each day. May the place of our work become “holy ground” for we believe that You are present everywhere. Amen.

Closing Prayer: We come here to call on our God to come to us, to be with us. The title Emmanuel, God-with-us, was given to Christ many centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah. Emmanuel symbolizes God’s great love for us -- so great that God put aside His Divinity and took on our humanity. We pray for our God to draw closer to us as individuals and as members of a community. We assemble before God as representatives of the people of the earth, eager to see peace and justice reign on the face of our troubled world. We pray to the Father, for the coming of the Son, through the working of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

December 19 - 3rd Antiphon: O FLOWER OF JESSE

O FLOWER OF JESSE, You have been raised up as a sign for all peoples; kings stand silent in Your presence; the nations bow down in worship before You. Come, let nothing keep You from coming to our aid.

Prayer: O Christ, living sign of the Father’s love, we adore You as the Center of our lives. You are our model for grace, truth, and living in the light of the Father. Be our strength in times of sorrow and trouble; be our joy in times of sadness; be our light in the darkness of sin and our troubled world. We are in awe of Your holy Presence. May we rejoice and share the signs of Your coming with one another. Amen.

Closing Prayer:  We come here to call on our God to come to us, to be with us. The title Emmanuel, God-with-us, was given to Christ many centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah. Emmanuel symbolizes God’s great love for us -- so great that God put aside His Divinity and took on our humanity. We pray for our God to draw closer to us as individuals and as members of a community. We assemble before God as representatives of the people of the earth, eager to see peace and justice reign on the face of our troubled world. We pray to the Father, for the coming of the Son, through the working of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

December 20 - 4th Antiphon: O KEY OF DAVID

O KEY OF DAVID, O royal Power of Israel controlling at Your will the gate of heaven: Come, break down the prison walls of death for those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death & lead Your captive people into freedom.

Prayer: Christ Jesus, You are the key to the happiness of our hearts. The darkness of sin and the awareness of our weaknesses drag us down, but You have come to lift us up & redeem us. We place all our hope in You who have freed us from sin. Teach us to open the doors of our hearts to You and to one another through awareness of the mystery of Your Presence in others. Lead us into the light of Your love & grace. Amen.

Closing Prayer: We come here to call on our God to come to us, to be with us. The title Emmanuel, God-with-us, was given to Christ many centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah. Emmanuel symbolizes God’s great love for us -- so great that God put aside His Divinity and took on our humanity. We pray for our God to draw closer to us as individuals and as members of a community. We assemble before God as representatives of the people of the earth, eager to see peace and justice reign on the face of our troubled world. We pray to the Father, for the coming of the Son, through the working of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

December 21 - 5th Antiphon: O DAYSPRING

O RISING DAWN, splendor of eternal light, sun of justice: Come, shine on those who dwell in darkness and in the shadow of death.

Prayer: Radiance of the Father, light for our eyes, and guide for our souls, brighten our days by showing us the way to the Father, for You said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” Your life showed us the way to live; Your words spoke of the truth of the Father; Your sufferings and death brought us to new life. May we be radiant with Your joy, as we begin to recognize Your coming to us in one another. We thank You for the gift of Your Body and Blood in the Eucharist which nourishes us and gives us renewed life. Amen.

Closing Prayer: We come here to call on our God to come to us, to be with us. The title Emmanuel, God-with-us, was given to Christ many centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah. Emmanuel symbolizes God’s great love for us -- so great that God put aside His Divinity and took on our humanity. We pray for our God to draw closer to us as individuals and as members of a community. We assemble before God as representatives of the people of the earth, eager to see peace and justice reign on the face of our troubled world. We pray to the Father, for the coming of the Son, through the working of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

December 22 - 6th Antiphon: O KING OF ALL NATIONS

O KING OF ALL NATIONS, the only joy of every human heart: O Keystone of the mighty arch of man. Come and save the creatures you fashioned from the dust.

Prayer: Lord, every nation on earth adores You, for by Your passion, death, and resurrection, You have saved all humanity. Your constant love and friendship reach from the heavens to the ends of the earth. You alone have bridged the deep chasm created by sin; You have protected us from the grasp of the evil one. You are the source of all life; help us to be as one family in You, our God and Savior. Amen.

Closing Prayer: We come here to call on our God to come to us, to be with us. The title Emmanuel, God-with-us, was given to Christ many centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah. Emmanuel symbolizes God’s great love for us -- so great that God put aside His Divinity and took on our humanity. We pray for our God to draw closer to us as individuals and as members of a community. We assemble before God as representatives of the people of the earth, eager to see peace and justice reign on the face of our troubled world. We pray to the Father, for the coming of the Son, through the working of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

December 23 - 7th Antiphon: O EMMANUEL, GOD-WITH-US

O GOD-WITH-US, Emmanuel, king and lawgiver, desire of the nations, Savior of all people, Come and set us free, Lord our God.

Prayer: Jesus, God-with-us, all compassionate and loving God whom we honor and adore, You have unlocked the gates of heaven and cleared the pathway for all humanity to come to You in the glory of the Father. Save us from the chains of sin and darkness. We thank you for the gift of redemption and look forward to the day of Your coming in glory. Amen.

Closing Prayer: We come here to call on our God to come to us, to be with us. The title Emmanuel, God-with-us, was given to Christ many centuries ago by the prophet Isaiah. Emmanuel symbolizes God’s great love for us -- so great that God put aside His Divinity and took on our humanity. We pray for our God to draw closer to us as individuals and as members of a community. We assemble before God as representatives of the people of the earth, eager to see peace and justice reign on the face of our troubled world. We pray to the Father, for the coming of the Son, through the working of the Holy Spirit. Amen.




-- found at Cathedral of St. John, Cleveland, https://saintjohncathedral.com/o-antiphons

Expansive language Magnificat

 And Mary said,

My soul overflows with your greatness, O Adonai;

        My spirit rejoices in you, O Savior of All the Nations!
For the light of your countenance has dawned over me
        despite my humble state.
From now and throughout eternity
        even those yet born will call me Blessed
                and sing of the great things you have done for me,

                exulting in the holiness of your Name.

You pour out your mercy on those who stand in awe of you
        those who revere you,
                from ages untold to ages yet to come.

Your strong arm shields the humble
        and levels the proud in their isolating conceit.
You have razed the thrones of those who rule by might
        while setting the lowly and gentle upon seats of honor.
You have satisfied the hungry with abundant delights
        while giving the rich a begging bowl, 

        sending them away empty-handed.
You have come to the aid of your people unfailingly
        fulfilling your promises to our ancestors,
                to the children of Hagar, Sarah, and Abraham forever,

                standing among us from time immemorial.

(reimagined LBS)

The Coming

And God held in his hand

A small globe. Look he said.
The son looked. Far off,
As through water, he saw
A scorched land of fierce
Colour. The light burned
There; crusted buildings
Cast their shadows: a bright
Serpent, A river
Uncoiled itself, radiant
With slime.
On a bare
Hill a bare tree saddened
The sky. many People
Held out their thin arms
To it, as though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs. The son watched
Them. Let me go there, he said.

-- R. S. Thomas (1913-2000) Welsh poet and Anglican priest.

Mary's Word (Feast of the Annunciation)

With a sound of distant thunder

the rainbow-eyed stranger
spoke to me. She
called me “favored one,”
and that made me stop in mid-step.
Just this morning I’d been
a beast of burden hauling water
for the entire household
so that my soon-to-be mother-in-law
could weigh again the bargain that had been struck
for my labor, present and future.
I could still hear my father
walking away, his pockets jingling,
the matter settled.

“Favored one.”

And for once in my life
now I was presented a proposal,
just as a dove slid down
a shaft of sunlight, revealing
lilies in the ditch,
more radiant than Solomon
in his rumored glory.

No fool, at first
I didn’t speak, much less
laugh, but
hurried home.

She appeared again
as I was spinning flax into thread--
poppies nodding at her feet,
the lilies this time an offering
shoulders shadowed
beneath star-flecked wings
flexed half-open, ready to depart or remain
at my response.

The frosted fields had just begun to green
after winter’s bony grip slackened, yet
the sweet smell of honeysuckle
and rose swirled improbably (only
in my mind?)
with each incredible word
that pulled the tides of my
presumed future moon-ward:
favored by God,
a son with a name like
light and breath.
Unconditional love,
conditional to human consent.

“Who am I
to contain such grace?” My
heart filled with wonder, mind
reeling with choices that I’d never
held in my grasp before. It was
the kindness there, the honor
that gleamed in the angel’s eyes
that rose over the tattoo of my heart
and tempered wonder to resolve.

The choice was mine to make.

The gates of my assent swung wide.

I startled myself
with the sureness of that leap within
my heart. Yes
to bearing the joy, the questions and pain, yes
to Eternity enclosed and growing
beneath my heart’s tempest and flame,
yet my spirit also hovered as if afloat
on the breath of God
who enters only after
my offered “yes”
--THAT was the Word made flesh.

The pulse within me responded,
I am
the hand
maid of
the Lord
Most High.

Before words formed on my lips,
before the spindle fell
from tingling fingers
and I sighed the song
that would frame my life
and burst loose the narrow orbit
I had once inhabited.

Jesus
Jesus
Jesus

In that instant, I knew too
he would be my son, yet
never mine alone.

Assent brought ascent. My eyes raised
to sizzled rasp of receding wingbeat;
the eddied air swirled and reeled.
The messenger departed
bearing my gift
after she nodded and rose, leaving me
this first treasure of many
for the storehouse of my heart.




© 2022 Leslie Barnes Scoopmire- all rights reserved.

This was first published at Episcopal Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on March 24, 2022-- the eve of the Feast of the Annunciation.

Image: "The Annunciation," John William Waterhouse (British/Italian), 1914.

Litany for Lent

Because temptation is woven into the fabric of our lives,
and we know the weariness of forty days in the desert,
and the beckoning power of sweet fruit,
and the vain promises of the world,
we need you, God.
We need you, God.

Because we see the broken before the whole,
and the half empty cup, and the unfinished task,
and the thirst in freedom’s quest,
we need you, God.
We need you, God.

Because we trust in what we can see,
and we are blinded by our prejudices,
and we do not know what we do not know,
we need you, God.
We need you, God.

Because our need for correctness exceeds our need for truth,
and our excuses preempt the cry of the wounded,
and our celebration of blessing is mindless of those displaced,
we need you, God.
We need you, God.

Because you came among us,
and breathed into our sinewy souls,
and healed our pain and let us wound you,
and loved us to the end,
and triumphed over all our hatred,
we need you, God.
We need you, God.


--Katherine Hawker, from the re-worship blog.

On the Mystery of the Incarnation

It’s when we face for a moment
the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know
the taint in our own selves, that awe
cracks the mind’s shell and enters the heart:
not to a flower, not to a dolphin,
to no innocent form
but to this creature vainly sure
it and no other is god-like, God
(out of compassion for our ugly
failure to evolve) entrusts,
as guest, as brother,
the Word.


--Denise Levertov (1923-1997) esteemed Anglo-American poet, convert to Roman Catholicism, daughter of a Welsh mother and a Russian Jewish father turned priest in the Church of England, from The Stream & the Sapphire: Selected Poems on Religious Themes.

Proper Prefaces for Epiphany

And now we give you thanks
because, in the incarnation of the Word,
a new light has dawned upon the world,
that all the nations may be brought out of darkness
to see the radiance of your glory.


And now we give you thanks
for, by the leading of a star,
you have revealed your only Son to the world,
that in following him
we are led from darkness into his marvellous light.


And now we give you thanks
because, in the wonder of the incarnation,
your eternal Word has brought to the eyes of faith
a new and radiant vision of your glory.
In him we see our God made visible
and so are caught up in love of the God we cannot see.


And now we give you thanks
because, in the mystery of the Word made flesh,
you have caused a new light to shine in our hearts
to give the knowledge of your glory
in the face of Jesus Christ our Lord.


And now we give you thanks
because you have revealed your eternal plan of salvation,
and have shown your Son Jesus Christ
to be the light to the nations.


--from the Church of England

We Awaken in Christ's Body

We awaken in Christ’s body, even as Christ

awakens our languishing bodies. And look!
My poor hand is Christ, the very hand of Christ.
And look! He enters my foot, and becomes
without conclusion, me. I reach out my hand and, full
of wonder, my hand becomes Christ, becomes
all of him—for he remains indivisibly whole,
without separation from his eternal holiness.
I take one step, my foot advancing, and look!
He is revealed as a flash of lightning, there
proceeding with my lowly foot.
Do you think I blaspheme? Then open
your heart to him, and receive the one who is ever
opening to you, and opening ever so deeply.
If we love him as we say, we wake up
in his body, even here, where our own bodies, entire,
every lash and atom, the honored and the dishonored,
are realized as his, are realized as him. And look!
He makes us—at long last—utterly real, and everything
that is hurt, all that has appeared to us as dark, as broken,
diseased, shameful, ugly, irreparably torn
is in him transfigured, and is revealed as whole,
lovely, illumined with and by and in his light.
And look, we rise from our long sleep, bearing the beloved
with our every step.


--Saint Simeon the New Theologian, 10th century

Resurrection

My friend a writer and scientist

has retreated to a monastery
where he has submitted himself
out of exhaustion to not knowing.
He’s been thinking about
the incarnation a.k.a. Big Bang
after hearing a monk’s teaching
that crucifixion was not the hard part
for Christ. Incarnation was.
How to squeeze all of that
all-of-that into a body. I woke
that Easter to think of the Yaqui
celebrations taking place in our city
the culminating ritual of the Gloria
when the disruptive spirits
with their clacking daggers and swords
are repelled from the sanctuary
by women and children
throwing cottonwood leaves and confetti
and then my mother rose
in me rose from the anguish
of her hospice bed a woman
who expected to direct all the action
complaining to her nurse
I’ve been here three days
and I’m not dead yet—not ready
at one hundred and two to give up
control even to giving up control.
I helped with the morphine clicker.
Peace peace peace the stilling
at her throat the hazel eye
become a glassy marble. Yet here she is
an Easter irreverent still rising
to dress in loud pastels
and turn me loose
in Connecticut woods to hunt
my basket of marshmallow eggs
jelly beans and chocolate rabbit
there fakeries of nature made vestal
incarnated in their nest of shiny manufactured grass.

--Alison Hawthorne Deming (1945- ), American poet and essayist

Hail

Mary who mattered to me, gone or asleep
among fruits, spilled
in ash, in dust, I did not
leave you.
Even now I can’t keep from
composing you, limbs and blue cloak
and soft hands. I sleep to the sound
of your name, I say there is no Mary
except the word Mary, no trace
on the dust of my pillowslip. I only
dream of your ankles brushed by dark violets,
of honeybees above you
murmuring into a crown. Antique queen,
the night dreams on: here are the pears
I have washed for you, here the heavy-winged doves,
asleep by the hyacinths. Here I am,
having bathed carefully in the syllables
of your name, in the air and the sea of them, the sharp scent
of their sea foam. What is the matter with me?
Mary, what word, what dust
can I look behind? I carried you a long way
into my mirror, believing you would carry me
back out. Mary, I am still 

for you, I am still a numbness for you.

--Mary Szybist (1970-), American Catholic poet and professor, from Incarnadine, winner of the 2013 National Book Award for Poetry.

Image: Leonardo DaVinci, The Annunciation, 1472

Long After the Desert and the Donkey

   

                                                            (Gabriel to Mary)

And of what there would be no end

             —it came quickly. 

The wind runs loose, the air churns over us. 

No one remembers. 

But I remember, under the elm’s cool awning, 

watching you watch the clouds. 

Afternoons passed like afternoons, 

and I loved how dull you were. 

Given a bit of bark or the buzz 

of a bright green fly, you’d smile 

for hours. Sweet child, you’d go to anyone. 

You had no preferences. 

I remember the first time coming toward you, 

how solid you looked, sitting and twisting 

your dark hair against your neck. 

But you were not solid. 

From the first moment, when you breathed 

on my single lily, I saw 

where you felt it. 

From then on, I wanted to bend low and close 

to the curves of your ear. 

There were so many things I wanted to tell you. 

Or rather, 

I wished to have things that I wanted to tell you. 

What a thing, to be with you and have 

no words for it. What a thing, 

to be outcast like that. 

And then everything unfastened. 

It was like something was always dissolving 

inside you— 

Already it’s hard to remember 

how you used to comb your hair or how you 

tilted your broad face in green shade. 

Now what seas, what meanings 

can I place in you? 

Each night, I see you by the window— 

sometimes pressing your lips against a pear 

you do not eat. Each night, 

I see where you feel it: 

where there are no mysteries.



--Mary Szybist (1970- ), poet and professor, Winner of the National Book Award for Poetry for 2013, from Incarnadine, 2013

Image: Benedetto Gennari II, The Annunciation

Advent Calendar

He will come like last leaf’s fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud’s folding.

He will come like frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.

He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.

He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writhes to toss him free.
He will come like child.

-- Rowan Williams, former Archbishop of Canterbury, Anglican theologian, Welsh
priest, and poet

Earth

What made us think
It was yours? Because it was signed
with your blood, O God of battles?
It is such a small thing.
Easily overlooked in the multitude
Of the worlds. We are misled
By perspective : the microscope
Is our sin, we tower enormous
Above it the stronger it
Grows. Where have your incarnations
Gone to ? The flesh is too heavy
To wear you, God of light
And fire. The machine replaces
The hand that fastened you
To the cross, but cannot absolve us.

--R. S. Thomas (1913-2000), Welsh poet and Anglican priest,  from H'm, 1972

Look!

As we learned how to read, were we 
beginning to forget to look, 
our young eyes caught in tangles of print 
so that imagination was choked? Were we 
trapped at that remove from ourselves? 

Or did we begin to see a new way, with eyes 
that widened in the amazement of reverie, 
memory, invention? As we peered 
between the words, could we make out 
shapes and colors beyond them?

What did our inside eyes make of 
the black marks on creamy paper, on onionskin? 
A dream of angels turned real, perhaps. 
A wooden boat on a lake. Three small loaves 
fragmented to fill all those empty mouths 

and baskets. Or this: a blind man 
opening his eyes so that the first face he sees -
a vision, surely - is Christ's, spittle 
still shining on the quick fingers, 
his mouth saying urgently, Look! 

—Luci Shaw (1928- ) from Accompanied by Angels: Poems of the Incarnation

The Meaning of Incarnation

... Jesus is the one in whom God's relationship with us attains perfection. In Jesus, unity with God takes a perfect form; here humanity has become God's own. That is the fundamental meaning of the incarnation, of God's becoming human.... The point of incarnation is therefore, as it was for the early Greek Fathers, the perfection of humanity; this is human-centered Christology  just because it is an incarnation centered one. By way of this perfected humanity in union with God, God's gifts are distributed to us-- we are saved-- just to the extent that we are one with Christ in faith and love; unity with Christ the gift-giver  is the means of our perfection as human beings, just as the union of humanity and divinity in Christ was the means of his perfect humanity. United with Christ, we are thereby emboldened as ministers of God's beneficence to the world, aligning ourselves with, entering unto communion with, those in need as in Christ was for us in our need and as Christ was a man for others, especially those in need.

--Kathryn Tanner (1957- ), American Episcopal theologian and professor, in Jesus, Humanity and Trinity: A Brief Systematic Theology, p. 9

In the Bleak Midwinter

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.

Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

--Christina Rosetti (1830-1894), English poet and supporter of the Oxford Movement

Christmas Affirmation

Let the love that shaped earth and heaven
dwell within us this Christmas.

Let the love that created humanity
dwell within us this Christmas.

Let the love that overcomes suffering and hatred
dwell within us this Christmas.

Let the love that causes us to rejoice with loved ones
dwell within us this Christmas.

Let the love that forgives and renews
dwell within us this Christmas.

Let the love that brings reconciliation after separation
dwell within us this Christmas.

Let the love that brings the blessing of peace
dwell within us this Christmas.

And may we share that peace
with all people near and far.

Amen.

from Prayers for Christmas, posted on the Christian Aid website

God's Word is in all Creation

No creature has meaning

without the Word of God.

God’s Word is in all creation, visible and invisible.

The Word is living, being,

spirit, all verdant

all creativity.

This Word flashes out in

every creature.

This is how the spirit is in

the flesh – the Word is indivisible from God.


--Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1197), German mystic poet and religious


Photo: love locks on a bridge in Barcelona, 2016

Annunciation as Fender's Blue Butterfly with Kincaid's Lupine

The endangered Fender’s blue butterfly

associates, not with common lupines,

but with the very rare Kincaid’s lupine.

—NATIVE PLANT SOCIETY OF OREGON

But if I were this thing,
my mind a thousand times smaller than my wings,

if my fluorescent blue flutter
finally stumbled

into the soft
aqua throats of the blossoms,

if I lost my hunger
for anything else

I’d do the same. I’d fasten myself
to the touch of the flower.

So what if the milky rims of my wings
no longer stupefied

the sky? If I could
bind myself to this moment, to the slow

snare of its scent,
what would it matter if I became

just the flutter of page
in a text someone turns

to examine me
in the wrong color?

-- Mary Szybist (1970- ), from Incarnadine, 2013 (National Book Award winner)

Images: top, from Oregon State University, pair of Fender's blue butterflies on Kincaid's Lupine; bottom, photo by Dana Ross, published by the Xerces Society. Fender's Blue butterfly is endangered; its habutat now consists of two small pockets of prairie in the Willamette Valley in Oregon that has the lupine on which it lays its eggs excusively.

Two Voices in a Meadow

              A Milkweed
Anonymous as cherubs
Over the crib of God,
White seeds are floating
Out of the burst pod.
What power had I
Before I yearned to yield?
Shatter me, a great wind:
I shall possess the field.

              A Stone
As casual as cow-dung
Under the crib of God,
I lie where chance would have me
Up to the ears in sod.
Why should I move? To move
Befits a light desire.
The sill of Heaven would founder,
Did such as I aspire.

--Richard Wilbur (1921-2017), from The Echoing Green: Poems of Fields, Meadows, and Grasses, 2016

Milkweed and stones, Windridge Solitude Retreat Center, June 26, 2017.