And The Choir Sang Sonnet.

Voices rising in silken golden arcs,

Each syllable a glimmer in the air,

Each line a lantern, softly borne

Through the hush of expectant pews.

They gathered words like petals in their palms,

Breathing rhyme’s ancient rhythm into dusk,

Where hope and longing, gently spun,

Wove harmony from memory and dust.

Above, the vaulted ceiling caught their notes

And scattered them like starlight, trembling,

Until the quiet soul below

Remembered how a heart may open,

How verse becomes a bridge of sound,

And in that music, all are found.