You Are There (a poem)

I have a surprise. I am not just a prose writer, I am also a poet. Not often, and not a very good one. In all my 700 periodical credits, only one was for a poem. But this one is an exception, I think. So here goes. . .

You are there in the sunshine,
in the freshness of the trees,
in the fragrance of the lilacs,
in the murmuring of the bees.

You are in the purple sunrise,
in the cackling of the hen,
in the Hereford's gentle lowing,
in the sunless mossy glen.

You are in the grocer's meat case,
in the high school's marching band,
in the dirty factory's smokestack
in the surgeon's careful hand.

You are there in Mother's letters,
in the smiles of offspring three,
in the love of my dear husband,
in the friendships nurturing me.

You are there---all around me,
though I hesitate to see.
You are always present with me
It's my blindness misses Thee.


Please let me know if it moves you like it moves me; okay?

Religiously yours,
Margaret