God, be kind to crooked things
To wrenched old trees, misshapen and awry . . .
Let small birds nestle in their leaves, let rain
And sunlight, and blue mercies of the sky
Fall, in tender recompense for pain
Upon them softly. Let their gnarled boughs know
The bliss of blossoms sheltered in their shade . . .
And bless all tortured, lonely roads that go
Upon lost journeys, aimless and afraid;
Let shy flowers follow all their grieving maze
Of wandering . . . And bless, oh more than these,
And draws dark comfort from crooked trees.
Dear God, be very kind to crooker things.
–written in 1944?
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I have seen the dawn begin
With a thread of lavender
Hinting, to my leafless sight,
There is something more than night.
I have seen the dawn begin
With a sky of scarlet fire
Declaring, high above each tall
Leafy tree, that day is all.
Whether that receiving ray
Shines with great or little power
On barren tree or grassy lawn
Matter little—it is dawn.
–From In Green Pastures (written in 1944?)
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I am at home with winter
I understand the thin
Determined trees, and all the calm,
Bare fields and I are kin.
I am at home with winter,
And I am glad to share
The dull gray days of waiting,
The cold, unfruitful air.
All hearts must master silence
Before they learn to sing.
Must be at home with winter
To be at home with spring.
–From Think About These Things (written in march 1943?)
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