Child At the Botanic Gardens

To make a phrase numismatic, it was A day of days. My darling ran Under the boughs of covert loss Until God made his presence scan, Like a metre of bright wave, the sin Of our hearts, and I could count each blotch Of love as I gazed upward through the din In my breath hiding from His scotch - But He had kind words rain on me And the sun came out and healed the welts and hurt Till my sadness slipped down the vast tree- Trunks, and fell like stockings on the dirt And slaps of time, and grubby days when He Was absent. My son says He lives in every tree.