I am the weaned child,
Upon Your knee.
Forgetful of time,
I curl Your hair about my fingers,
And tug at Your heartstrings.
My toys, the shiny objects of yesterday,
Lie by the stairs,
By which I began my ascent to You.
Comfort me.
Cuddle me.
Tickle me.
You spend Your universe,
As You had always planned,
Delighting one so small,
The least of the Children of Man.
© 2012 Joann Nelander
This makes me think of Jesus saying that unless we become as little children we won’t get to heaven.
Ands, “A smile is worth a thousand words.” God Bless, SR
I loved this poem. Thanks for posting. God Bless, SR
You made me smile. Thanks for your visit.