by Jeffrey Essmann

Upon my early morning Sunday stroll
The park all emerald, cool and still,
The Hudson plodding on its leaden roll,
(And somewhere off a robin’s solo trill…),
I wandered round with very little will
Or aim, no compass but my eye’s delight,
No urgency except to take my fill
Of beauty as her fondest acolyte;
When off the path a sudden bloom of light
Among some maple leaves began to play
While underneath a breeze quite recondite
Their branches lifted in a green ballet:
A beauty and a peace there so austere
I wondered if the Virgin might appear.

Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, The Society of Classical Poets, Amethyst Review, Agape Review, America Magazine, U.S. Catholic, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, Edge of Faith, Pensive, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.