Preoccupation by Roberta T. Swartz

And when I knew this dream was dead,
I did not grieve at all.
“God needs that dream for His own work,” I said.
“He will with immense precision
concentrate on this my vision.”
God was watching a meadow weed
—a long lank thing from a surface seed
and with gigantic tenderness
was willing it to grow, I guess.
At first I shouted, “God,” I cried,
“my valuable dream has died.”
He did not even look aside.
So I went nearer.  “God,” I said,
“I suppose you know my dream is dead.”
But God had placed a second seed—
was thinking up another weed.
    ==Roberta T. Swartz

§§§

This appeared in Poetry magazine in 1925.

Click on Roberta Teale Swartz for a brief Wikipedia biography.

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