Becoming providence – a poem


I could not help to see or know
the person you are now
how you came to this and how
you never learned to bow

I could not help to liken me,
to a branch without a tree,
stricken by the shock and awe,
the tree has life outside me

I dwell in comforts and in dreams,
and have not worked so much,
I am asking for my providence,
some fourteen thousand cows.

I could not help to liken faith,
to childlike providence,
forgetting thus, I will grow up,
and build my own dear fence

I build my providence of grace,
with any woman given,
forgetting past, and giving grace,
forgetting mom and dad.

So shaped is time, a child no more,
and providence is me,
this tree that is so merciful,
is my wife, my God and me.

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