Though we never met,
though we lived four centuries apart,
though from different countries and denominations,
we have a personal relationship.
The distant one – a poet – George Herbert;
the contemporary – a lover of poetry – ’tis I.
For years I’ve carried in my heart,
put in my soul’s library Herbert’s poetry.
Every morning I recite his “Matins,”
often in religious dryness.
I pray over and over “Trinity Sunday,”
and when my faith is weak “Love III.”
Though we have never “met,”
we are dear friends and have shared much.