Rare Herb of Silence

Beautiful poem today about the Quakers' practice of silence, and the result of that issuing in "such difficult witness" in "hopeless places" - it's called "Friends' Meeting House, Frenchay, Bristol", by U A Fanthorpe:

...  when the lovely holy distractions,
Safe scaffolding of much-loved formulae,
Have been rubbed away; then the plant
Begins to grow. It is hard to rear,
Rare herb of silence, through which the Word comes.
Three centuries of reticent, meticulous lives
Have naturalised it on this ground.

This was M picking asparagus on what will possibly be our last walk from this house, a place where we have enjoyed a lot of silence. Our future landlords called us to come down to the town to pick out what furniture we wanted, and ended up staying to supper with them - and sitting round their fire, learning so much about Portugal - feel immensely privileged.