Читать книгу The Invisible God - John J. Brugaletta - Страница 10

Here I tend on bended knee

This uncertain tiny light,

Coaxing it with twigs and breath

Till it shatter cold and night.

Should it grow so I can see

Where to walk and where to rest,

I may sweep and order here

For the coming of our Guest.

I had sensed the pits and bones;

Firelight tells me nothing new,

Only steeping my shut eyes

In the miserably true.

If this little flame will grow,

He may come to grace my day,

So the breath that helps it climb

Blows in words with which I pray.