February 11, 2012

The Dove



Nancy Lipsius


February 12th would be the ninetieth birthday of my mother, Nancy Briskay Cornell Lipsius, who passed on on January 3, 1998 at the age of just under seventy-six years of age. She wrote the poem twenty-nine years ago.



 Wrapped in the cocoon of tranquility,


 Where God breathes, where the turning of pages

 Is as the sound of angels’ wings.


 Where souls gather to worship I feel

 Joy, sorrow, hope, here where voices blend in

 Imperfect harmony.


 Where the dove is poised in

 Flight, head downward, wings not quite

 Spread, sun filtering through stained

 Glass, streams of

 Ruby, sapphire, mingled

 With streams of gold. Peaceful, serene,



 In this Holy Place, an insidious invasion from

 Far corners, like

 Fingers of fog, curling,

 Spreading, shrouding, strangling, drowning

 The rustle of angels’ wings under the

 Cacophony of

 “Missile silos,” “Armageddon,”

 “The Day after,” blotting out the beauty of

 Song with “Holocaust,” “protest Demonstrations,”

 With strident voice of hopelessness, thrusting

 Shouts of  “Nuclear Freeze,” “Radiation,” “Wasteland.”

 The sun is no more, the streamers are

 Blood red, purple agony, gold mocks the sound of


 The dove is a

 Missile poised in downward

 Flight, ‘til the scream that is Me

 Dispels the fog and

 With wings out-spread,

 Peace swoops ever downward, covering my

 Trembling body with the comfort of Love.



 My People

In Memoriam: Nancy Briskay Cornell Lipsius


1 Comment »

  1. This was one of my favorite ones from her writings.

    Comment by Cynthia Lipsius — February 12, 2012 @ 5:50 pm | Reply

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