~ by Lawrence Hall
[In the Abbey of Whitby, Long Ago]
“But you will sing – for me,” the angel said
to bashful Caedmon – on one Christmas night.
“But not to me – but to the Builder of all
and to His purposes – in Creation.
“But you will sing – for me,” the angel said.
“And you will sing – sing for the abbess
and for her people – of the Builder of all,
and of their places – in Creation.
“But you will sing – for me,” the angel said.
And so it was – that Caedmon sang.
(There is no indication that the feast was at Christmas, and no indication that it was not, so I have presumed to set Caedmon’s hymn within the Twelve Days.)
(The Anglo-Saxon caesura, the slightest pause within each line, is meant to be neat; In reading the poem the first half of each line should have two accents, and the second half another two.)