small children
and small needs;
small meals to cook,
small talk to heed,
and a small book
from which to read
small stories;
small hurts to heal,
small disappointments, too,
as real
as ours;
small glories
to discover
in bugs,
pebbles,
flowers.
When day is through
my mind is small,
my strength is gone;
and as I gather
each dear one
I pray, “Bless each
for Jesus’ sake –
such angels sleeping,
imps awake!”
What wears me out
are little things:
angels minus
shining wings.
Forgive me, Lord,
if I have whined:
. . . it takes so much
to keep them shined;
yet each small rub
has its reward,
for they have blessed me.
