You, my friend, who died in battle,
can’t remember
How your breath became a rattle,
then, more slender,
Changed to prayer. What syllables
were left to say,
What could be brought to mind, what bales
of fragrant hay
Uplifted from your father’s field?
But you were done
With gathering; another yield
had just begun.
—Jared Carter
Image by Wellcome Images licensed via Creative Commons. Image cropped.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Bladee’s Redemptive Rap
Georg Friedrich Philipp von Hardenberg, better known by his pen name Novalis, died at the age of…
Postliberalism and Theology
After my musings about postliberalism went to the press last month (“What Does “Postliberalism” Mean?”, January 2026),…
Nuns Don’t Want to Be Priests
Sixty-four percent of American Catholics say the Church should allow women to be ordained as priests, according…
