Midsummer
David Baird
The rumor rattles down a rocky hill
And kindles in lost village dread concern:
Far off in holy city, it is learned,
A temple-server’s tongue has stricken still.
Amidst the secret priestcraft silent-stern,
Invisible past inmost deadly veil,
A thing occurred; yet dumb, his only tale
Was mist behind the eyes like incense burned.
Yet more, a woman barren as the sands
Unhides now from his house with babe in arm;
And soon the name was scrawled with trembling hands,
Same man spoke out in prayer to great alarm!
Everyone wonders. No one understands.
Until a voice cries out from vulture lands.