Mother, among the dustbins and the manure <br />I feel the measure of my humanity, an allure <br />As of the presence of God, I am sure <br /> <br />In the dustbins, in the manure, in the cat at play, <br />Is the presence of God, in a sure way <br />He moves there. Mother, what do you say? <br /> <br />I too have felt the presence of God in the broom <br />I hold, in the cobwebs in the room, <br />But most of all in the silence of the tomb. <br /> <br />Ah! but that thought that informs the hope of our kind <br />Is but an empty thing, what lies behind? -- <br />Naught but the vanity of a protesting mind <br /> <br />That would not die. This is the thought that bounces <br />Within a conceited head and trounces <br />Inquiry. Man is most frivolous when he pronounces. <br /> <br />Well Mother, I shall continue to think as I do, <br />And I think you would be wise to do so too, <br />Can you question the folly of man in the creation of God? <br />Who are you?<br /><br />Stevie Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mother-among-the-dustbins/
