. . . . .
A poem by Alice B. Clagett
2 July 2018
What bookish notion schools a bairn
as might a crayfish by a languid bourne?
What did that crawdad ever learn,
that it knew not on finding form?
How, In fact, how shall I take in
all the beings that I am?
How frisk the Veil of by and by
where tens on tens of folks be I ?
— one just borning and the next full grown
— one soft cocooning, in carnation’s womb
— one swift careening through an astral gloom
turning, hand outstretched, to angelic lumen
Now regal male decked rough, reared up full wild
Now just past childhood mother cradling her own child
Guerrero here, there carpenter or nun
Pagan, Christian, wondering One
Trying, falling, free, then bound
yearning, spurning, missing, found!
How may we reckon age or race or wealth?
How learn the weight of wisdom of our Self?
How find a mooring in this place, that time
when placeless timeless Hearts toward God incline?
He is the flower of the Soul
His the enthralling, star-spanned role
His is the basket that all lives enspline
He is the teacher, He the rhyme
. . . . .
Alice B. Clagett
Except where otherwise noted, 2U3D by Alice B. Clagett is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License