THIS tattered catechism weaves a spell, <br />Invoking from the Long Ago a child <br />Who deemed her fledgling soul so sin-defiled <br />She practised with a candle-flame at hell, <br />Burning small fingers, that would still rebel <br />And flinch from fire. Forsooth not all beguiled <br />By hymn and sermon, when her mother smiled, <br />That smile was fashioning an infidel. <br />'If I'm in hell,' the baby logic ran, <br />'Mother will hear me cry and come for me. <br />If God says no —I don't believe He can <br />Say no to mother.' Then at that dear knee <br />She knelt demure, a little Puritan <br />Whose faith in love had wrecked theology.<br /><br />Katharine Lee Bates<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-tattered-catechism/
