A November Sunrise

by Anne Porter

Wild geese are flocking and calling in pure golden air,
Glory like that which painters long ago
Spread as a background for some little hermit
Beside his cave, giving his cloak away,
Or for some martyr stretching out
On her expected rack.
A few black cedars grow nearby
And there's a donkey grazing.

Small craftsmen, steeped in anonymity like bees,
Gilded their wooden panels, leaving fame to chance,
Like the maker of this wing-flooded golden sky,
Who forgives all our ignorance
Both of his nature and of his very name,
Freely accepting our one heedless glance.


  1. I am the donkey grazing, I cannot stay away from here. Have you a carrot, perchance...

  2. If the sun would shine, perhaps I'll chance upon a sunrise and see just this.

    Now go give Owen a carrot.

  3. Must be something to it; I took a photo of a November sunrise just the other day. BTW, my blog is invitation only now, due to an ex-husband, please email me at knitblogger@cox.net if you want added. Thanks

  4. Oddly enough I do have carrots--a pound of them, in fact, from Thanksgiving. Forgot to make one of the recipes...apologies to carrot lovers everywhere. I'll start washing them, Owen:>)

  5. I love the sound of geese calling and honking as they fly in their V overhead. It's a melancholy sound - much like the bray of a donkey.

  6. One carrot a year and I will graze here eternally...


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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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