In honor of the last day of National Poetry month...
I just had to post these lines from e.e. cummings!
Father Rooster read them in his sermon last Sunday, quoting from Richard John Neuhaus's little book As I Lay Dying: Meditations Upon Returning. They speak so eloquently of the things that keep us from really living in the present moment:
whereling whenlings
(daughters of ifbut offsprings of
hopefear
sons of unless and children of almost)
never shall guess the dimension of
him whose
each
foot likes the
here of this earth
whose both
eyes
love
this now of the sky
I don't know what larger poem they are from--does anyone out there?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Google says it's from "anyone lived in a pretty how town" written in memory of his father.
Oh, yay for Google!
I remember reading "pretty how town" and liking it a lot. Will have to re-read.
Thanks, Amy!
Post a Comment