Skip to main content
By R. S. Gwynn

Her e-mail inbox always overflows.   

Her outbox doesn’t get much use at all.   

She puts on hold the umpteen-billionth call   

As music oozes forth to placate those   

Who wait, then disconnect. Outside, wind blows,   

Scything pale leaves. She sees a sparrow fall   

Fluttering to a claw-catch on a wall.   

Will He be in today? God only knows.   

She hasn’t seen His face—He’s so aloof.   

She’s long resigned He’ll never know or love her   

But still can wish there were some call, some proof   

That He requires a greater service of her.   

Fingers of rain now drum upon the roof,   

Coming from somewhere, somewhere far above her.   

Source: Poetry (November 2008)

  • Arts & Sciences
  • Religion

Poet Bio

R. S. Gwynn
Poet, scholar, editor, and critic R.S. Gwynn was born in Eden, North Carolina. A New Formalist, Gwynn works within and against the demands of complex verse forms such as the villanelle, pantoum, and rondeau, in a voice at once wry and emotionally charged. The author of several collections of poetry, Gwynn has taught at Lamar University since 1976. He lives in Beaumont, Texas. See More By This Poet

More Poems about Arts & Sciences

Browse poems about Arts & Sciences

More Poems about Religion

Browse poems about Religion Get a random poem