Rose-Colored Windows in Miller Chapel

These windows wane pink to the outside world;
As pink, deep, and fragrant
As the innermost buds of the magnolia tree
Dripping down onto April grass,
Snowing down over that wooden bench
Made for study, relaxation, conversation,
Sprawling if the day is sunny.

The bush-buds outside the thick and historic
Blocks of windowpane glass
Are pink also (and moreso through the tinted pane),
Rich and purple with compact and bulging flowers,
Sprouting as if they thought they were berries
Ripe for eating, sweet and summery.

When will the reflections of trees and light
(Mosaicked, flickering, captivating,
Artful on a dark pew)
Become visible to your blinking eyes?
And when will a cloudless sky give you
The fear and trembling to take control
Of giving it up?

When will peering through the rose-colored windows
In order to see outside
Feel nothing like standing on the outside peering in
At the evening glow of yellow light filtered
Through those glassy and warm eyes
That never grow cold
To the days that you are nothing but blind?