in our anguish we struggle
to elude him, to lie to him, yet his love observes
his appalling promises; his predeliction
as we wander and weep is with us to the end.
minding our meanings, our least matter dear to him.
w.h. auden
i learned, i learned, when one might be inclined
to think, too late, you cannot recover your losses-
i learned something of the nature of God's mind,
not the abstract creator but he who caresses
the daily and nightly earth; he who refuses
to take failure for an answer till again and again is worn.
patrick kavanagh
