But you can know him now, Can know the sacrificial quality of every moment, Offered as a sacrament as pure as any other offering Can know despite, the pure despite of that old troubled smile That lilts and trembles, glints, still, in the eyes And plays about the clumsy hands Can know he lies awake in pain and grief But never turns his fond face to wall and never curses God to die But faces daylight with the strength that only weakness teaches Can know him now, flimsy as a paper fan Firm, for all that, as a sun-borne blast And bowed by sense and circumstance to holier things Like hanging on
Posted on: Fri, 16 Jan 2015 19:50:41 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015