Child At the Botanic Gardens
To make a phrase numismatic, it was
A day of days. My darling ran
Under the boughs of covert loss
Until God made his presence scan,
Like a metre of bright wave, the sin
Of our hearts, and I could count each blotch
Of love as I gazed upward through the din
In my breath hiding from His scotch -
But He had kind words rain on me
And the sun came out and healed the welts and hurt
Till my sadness slipped down the vast tree-
Trunks, and fell like stockings on the dirt
And slaps of time, and grubby days when He
Was absent. My son says He lives in every tree.
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