God In Our Infancy So Real Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

who else could write in purple ink on clouds of gold

when we were only barely four or five years old

or send our shadows sideways in the past


when we were playing tag on dew drenched grass.

or singing carols in a stained glass light

or hearing angel lullabies so faintly


late at night.

without theology, or saying our prayers right.

we did our best to bless the trees and sky


and pray for all who loved us by and by

we drifted in our dreams. and watched the rain

pour silver into streams and down the sleep filled lanes


and felt the kingdom radiant of His shadow ease

small childhood pains

from our cribs; the creche and manger comfort

that was His


when gazing out the window at the stars

and feeling sure he couldn't be that far

we knew Him early; still his moonlit wayward


children oh we are.


mary angela douglas 27 may 2020; rev.1 june 2020