One comes to love the little saints,
As years go by.
One learns to love the little saints.
“O hear me sigh,
St. Anthony,
Find this for me,
I wish you’d try.”
There must be many garden gods,
A gardener sees.
There’d have to be an orchard god.
“Divinities,
Take honour due.
The long year through
Protect these trees.”
The Mother and the Holy Child
Are friends to me.
I pray, “I am my mother’s child.
I trust you’ll see
That days are bright
And all goes right
With her and me.”
8.2.25