The Play Continues

For Peg

We tire, and wither, and our souls grow old; The trillion miracles that swarm our sight No longer lend our hoary hearts delight— Bright kings enthroned, we weary of our gold. But oh, our Father is more young than we: A child who never tires of one glad tale, He calls an encore, lifely, without fail, And younger actors age-old lines do read. For every birth renews, redeems, the world— To startled eyes, just closed on Heaven's views, The dazzling panoramas are unfurled, With dawn-dew-dappled grace freshly imbued; And one child born to one good-hearted girl Can make the very earth and heavens new.