By Helen Steiner Rice
Preferred poet Helen Steiner Rice's appealing verse has been valuable for many years. Her paintings maintains to motivate readers as they event the uplifting encouragement in Barbour's most up-to-date price e-book! Readers should be encouraged to percentage Helen Steiner Rice's liked verse repeatedly with a set of Encouragement. Poems like "You are by no means Alone" and "The Hand of God is Everywhere" will refresh and encourage your center.
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Additional resources for A Collection Of Encouragement
Her voice makes a place, and the birds go there carrying nothing but the sky. When I think about the hills where I was born, someone — is he inside me? Beside me? Does he have a mother or father, brother or sister? Is he my dismembered story fed to the unvanquished roses? Is he the rosebud packed in sleep and ﬁre, counted, tendered, herded toward the meeting foretold? Which of us is awake tonight? Which of us is the lamp? Which the shadow? Someone who won’t answer remembers laughter that sires the rocks and trees, 46 that fetches in its ancient skirts the fateful fruits and seeds.
But stand at a window long enough, late enough, and you may some night hear a secret you’ll tomorrow, parallel to the morning, tell on a wide, white bed, to a woman like a sown ledge of wheat. Or you may never tell it, who lean across the night and miles of the sea, to arrive at a seed, in whose lamplit house resides a thorn, or a wee man carving a name on a stone, the name of the one who has died, the name of the one not born unknown. 23 Someone has died. Someone is not yet born. And during this black interval, I sweep all three ﬂoors of our father’s house, and I don’t count the broom strokes; I row up and down for nothing but love: his for me, my own for the threshold, and for the woman’s voice I hear while I sweep, as though she swept beside me, a woman whose face, if she owns a face at all, is its own changing.
When my son lays his head in my lap, I wonder: Do his father’s kisses keep his father’s worries from becoming his? I think, Dear God, and remember there are stars we haven’t heard from yet: They have so far to arrive. Amen, I think, and I feel almost comforted. I’ve no idea what my child is thinking. Between two unknowns, I live my life. Between my mother’s hopes, older than I am by coming before me, and my child’s wishes, older than I am by outliving me. And what’s it like? Is it a door, and good-bye on either side?