The Conversion of Saint Augustine What in particular he read Was not the miracle. Instead, The child's voice chanting on next door, The sun's voice on the garden floor Rang like a fever in his head. ("Pick it up, read it!" the child said.) He swore, he turned around to look For some distraction, and a book Lay open on a bench below; He read, "Take thy companion, go—" But no, exactly what he read Was not the miracle. Instead It was the page, his eyes, the light. God gives the power to read and write, He knew, and knew until he died. ("Pick it up, read it!" the child cried.) The Lyric, vol. 71, #4 (Fall 1991), p. 95.

Photographer: Harris Steinman Click on photo above for a larger picture

 

A selection of poems

 

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Index Page | The Author | Sarah's Poetry | Some Reviews

These Pages were first created in November 1996, and updated in November 2005.