Bubbles of Babble
BUBBLES OF BABBLE
A father sees his small children babbling and
Blowing insignificant bubbles in the wind.
One child's lips blow a lot; another blows only very few.
Yet these few are precious to the father.
The multitudes which peel effortlessly
Off the soap-frame in the hands of another child
Mean little individually - shining spherical pearls before swine,
Blowing randomly in the wind.
And prayers, too, fall sometimes too easily from the holy lips
Of people kneeling in groups each day: and each babbling
Repeated mantra or Hail Mary has individually little significance:
And God is showered with bubbles of babble of all sizes and colours,
Some in clusters inside one another, with bits of extra soap dripping off
Carelessly-formed sloppy glassy balls.
Some of them expire before even reaching his throne,
So little effort was put into them,
So little intention of ever following their path upward.
But a lone figure lost, abandoned, in some black
Perilous sea of troubles who, pitched headlong into a moment
Of last helpless desperation, screams at the top of his soul
To his God, and at that moment is certain
That only the Almighty can right his troubled boat,
That he has exhausted all his own puny powers,
And recognizes the insignificance of his babble -
Such a prayer is a precious gem, perfectly-formed and rising,
Fast-track, directly thronewards, as it should.. . . . .
A pearl of great price.
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