Sangeetha Kamath

The church glowed russet in the harkening light of dawn,  The stone walls, verses of amber as the slanting sun rays spilled through the hawthorn The decrepit door, once honey brown The flaking paint now shades of taupe, in the high August noon they drench and drown Beckoning light in, in splashes of a kaleidoscope from stained glass windows The old church is the sanity of these hills, surrounded by fragrant cedars and junipers  It has greeted blazing summers, blustery breeze Now it sings with the wind and embraces the sunshine, listening to the rhythm of quenching rain. The church nesting on a knoll of wildflowers and dunes of grass Conjures a fond dream on a velvety green moss  As the sunrise hums to the fading stars,  The spires and steeples glow silver at the tops. The bells oh so huge rolled the pealing Through the vales and hamlet for every death or wedding  Through summer and spring the church spire reached into clouds or a quilt of cyan blue Unbroken gossamer webs now veil the c