Small Meditation On Raspberry Strudel Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

it's iced raspberry strudel in the bakery aisle
I cannot afford that seems as far
out of reach as if it were caviar.

I try to choose:
chips without salsa,
salsa without chips-

which one's more filling?
I spend all I have on books
still hoping to be a better poet;

I do not starve for words
and words are better than bread,
He said

when He walked among us
or the Word from which, green-vined
to the point of emerald, it all comes
sparkling through-
.
someday I'll have raspberry strudel
every afternoon in Eternity:
a thousand years in His light.
and that's a lot of pastry, isn't it.

mary angela douglas 5 november 2013