What I Know of God is This
What I know of God is this:
That He has hands, for He touches me.
I can testify to nothing else;
Living among many unseen beings
Like the whippoorwill I'm constantly hearing
But was pointed out to me just once.
Last of our hopes when all hope's past
God, never let me call on Thee
Distracting myself from a last chance
Which goes just as quick as it comes;
And I have doubts of Your omnipotence.
All I ask is... Keep on existing
Keeping Your hands. Continue to touch me.
Milton Acorn (1923 – 1986)
Today's poem is for petzipellepingo, who wanted to see acorns. I always intended to fulfill this request with a poem, but not this one. I had the idea in my head that the phrase "mighty oaks from tiny acorns grow" came from a poem, but it turns out that I was wrong. Whoops. (Though Chaucer did write, in Troilus and Criseyde, "just as an oak comes from a little spire," spire being an archaic word meaning sapling. So close!) I considered bagging the idea of doing it as a poem, but first I decided to put "acorn poem" into Google. Thus did I learn of the Canadian poem Milton Acorn. God bless Google.