Bars of Light
Evening sunlight in recumbent ribbons
lies dappled on soft curves of southern downs.
Our quick-witted boys gambol always just
out of touch or reach like quick-shimmer fish,
they shriek as grounded little birds among
motley shades of grass and perils of earth.
Our soiled trudging muddies purity, piles
on all our misery that could cost them
on the days we go to heaven, will they
follow us, our little silver angels
to gaze upon the face of distant God
and ask then why we could see Him in them
but not in us? Our mothers’ eyes were not
kind in youth but, honey, that's no excuse.