He who kindled
The fire of the sun
He who draws out the tender leaves
From the dark twigs of winter
He who has whittled
A cabin for the snail
Has also carved our names
In the palm of his hand
And he became a child
The better to be near us
An excerpt from Anne Porter's poem, Here on Earth.
For the full text, see:
http://maggidawn.com/advent-poems-2/
It seems that several of my dearest friends are walking around wounded and sad right now- all amazing women, all soldiering on, all stunned and aching and staggering. Their loads are so large and of such a nature that friends are at a loss to know just what to do, but a word of beauty and tenderness is always always always welcome.
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