by William Wordsworth, and the Author
Something wonderful is about to happen, she thought.
When, as a child, on the day before Christmas,
She awoke to the smells of her mother’s cooking:
Gingerbread men, mincemeat pie, and rows of peanut butter cookies.
Not remembering it was 24 December.
Just that something wonderful was about to happen.
I awaken now mornings with this joy, she thought, still in bed.
At least I sometimes think it’s joy, bubbling from my heart.
She clutched her small fists to her breast.
Like Mary must have felt, she thought,
Carrying Jesus inside her, not fully aware of his divinity.
She turned in bed, drew up her knees
And pulled the sheets in tight,
The pillow cool against her face, she heard the birdsong,
Heard her daughter stirring in the next room,
Felt gentle catpaws as her mouser jumped into her bed.
“I guess it’s time to start this day”, she whispered.
Yet she lingered,
Held very still,
And listened for the quiet voice within her chest.
“Something wonderful is about to happen”, she said out loud
Jumped out of bed,
And threw the covers on the floor.
The World Is Too Much With Us
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.
The Forgiveness of Daises
You called me in the night and I came.
In the midst of your nightmare, I heard your moaning.
What’s wrong? I asked. Your pain hurts my ears.
You said, I awakened to darkness and fear. I am small in the night
And am frightened by the shadows.
I sat on your bed and stroked your hair.
I straightened your eyebrows with my lips, and kissed your tears to silence.
I am the bear, I said. Let me hug you, and I wrapped my arms around you.
I am the sunshine on a new spring morning when the world is gray and silver.
I am the warmth of your father’s hearth, crackling in the glow.
I am your mother’s hip, wrapped in gingham, where you lean your head.
I am the song of a street beggar, playing flute for food.
I am the poet, crying my tears for you.
I am the river flowing, bringing blue life to the world.
I am the promise of tomorrow, in a world wrapped by time.
I am the unexpected joy of grace.
I am the forgiveness of daisies.
When you grew quiet, I asked
Will there be anything else?
Yes, you replied,
Could I hold some of those daisies?