My Prayer in Spring

I should have(?) more poetry in my life.

Let me try again: Poetry should play a bigger role in my life. Beauty and motion in words - I need more of that, more reflection and pleasure in prose, more appreciation in the every day and the abstract instead of trying to pin down certainties and endlessly speculate to no real benefit.

When Emma was born, this piece by Robert Frost really spoke to me. I wanted to write about it but never got to it because, well, motherhood and I could never find the words to describe how I felt. 

Fast forward one year, and it still does. And no, it's not that I can find the words now - it's that I'd better just pen this and just accept the fact that I will never find the right words.

Emma is my prayer in spring. My spark of joy amidst the everyday mundane. Every day is anew. She makes me want to to create and not consume, she forces me to be both selfless and tireless. 

A Prayer In Spring
by Robert Frost

He give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.
Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.