Having come to little or much,
we come to little again--
like children, coming and going,
like children at the end.;
Except for the wrinkled faces,
the bent, arthritic limbs,
and dreams of long-dead fathers,
stretching out empty arms.
Suffer the little children!
Small, let them grow so small
they may pass through the tiny doorway
in the little garden wall--
and mingle with the grown-up children,
those bright-winged sons of men
who having found the arms of Fathers
will never grow small again.
Copyright 2010-2012 Paul Petrie