Poem September 8, 1973 Issue

ACCEPTANCE

Ann C. Stewart

In the high meadows,
sunk between walls of pine and rock,
the sun comes late and never lingers.
To be content, one who loves mountains
accepts as surrogate
for first horizon glow
a single cup of sun
caught high
and held in blazing snow
till it brims over
spilling down in reckless leaps
of splashing light
extinguishing the mountain's night
and ours.

In just this way, standing deep in shadow,
I once was drenched
with love
having accepted one token of
God's love as evidence enough. I found
flood tides of pure affection
cascading from a cup.

Ann C. Stewart

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