Poem: Seoul Vespers
by Samuel Rahberg
When pilgrims hear only music
in language that means something
to those who live here,
there is no choice but to feel
the way into prayer.
One can watch for the right time
to rise, to bow, to sit.
One can listen for the lilt
of psalms, hymns and readings.
One might even glean a
Christo, Maria or Amen,
as clear young voices
chant in single tones.
Like the winged choir perched
on Asian pines nearby,
pilgrim hearts draw in close,
moved beyond listening,
unable to resist the song.
From the collection Ice Break by Samuel Rahberg
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