Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.110

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

MANNA


Fresh from the movies when I was eight
Strolling  the snow-covered road with mum late,
Talking  of Heston and movies biblical
And was there such a thing as a miracle?
Deep kid with more than one  kid-question -
Was deep snow  from heaven?  Divine intercession?
Eating chips * from an open newspaper bag,  
Finished mine in a hurry   -  I didn’t   lag.
Drank my vinegar from the  packet’s corner
As was my custom after the Brothers Warner. 
Waiting for her to finish, hoping as always
For her to offer me an extra chip,  my mouth  I raise.
She sees my eye and shoves her hand
In her bag, pulls out a fat chip  and fans
Its heat for me; she reaches down to my
Begging mouth, misses for fun, then second try.
As it slid in a huge snowflake landed on its top
Like icing on a birthday cake from a shop.
Absolute  delight  filled both our souls  - 
Believe me,   that was  the best of our strolls.
Fresh from her bag,  it was mother-warm
Mid  the snow’s  white feather-storm :
It was surely manna from heaven.
It was soul-bread needing no leaven.




Note:   * Chips   is  British English for   french fries.

....................................................................................

Entered in Deborah  Guzzi's contest  FOREIGN  EXCHANGE

Country I am writing from  =  United  Kingdom

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required