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How They Carry the Good News

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I’m not sure what I’ll

Write today,

But there will be something

Something about me

And you

God and the whole world,

Which we sing is in

God’s hands

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I suppose an earthquake

Might mean

That something is slipping through

The fingers,

A flood might mean

Too many tears

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The birds might carry news

Carried by the wind,

Another agency

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They hear the talking

In the trees

And what stones say

Between buildings

Some shining,

Some in ruins

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I guess there are words

From all over Earth

While the moon

Sings in response

And the stars

Oscillate their notes as well

For any

Who are listening

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Let those who hear,

May—not

With ears

But with supernal apparatus

That repression

Or suppression might affect

But is with us, still

Too deep, perhaps

Though there is

A law of freedom

That

I’ve heard about

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C L Couch

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“How They Carried the Good News from Ghent to Aix” is a poem by Robert Browning.

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Photo by Christine Benton on Unsplash

At a gymkhana show in Warner Springs. These two make a formidable duo, galloping across the arena and then coming to a sliding stop to make a sharp turn around a pole (out of range to the left). They take my breath away.

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