The tide of dreaded plague laps at my stoop.
But it means me no harm.
It is meant for others.
It will pass me by.
A terrible plague,
but it is not for me.
God meant it for those who sin.
Those men of the mysterious
and sinful sex.
Those women whose sex
is without mystery.
Those who plumb pleasure
into their veins.
Those quilted into history.
Those strangers to me.
I wish the dreaded plague
would go away,
but God's Will be done.
I have hardened my heart.
I understand God's anger.
But it is not at me.
Can another truth
of the plague be told?
Maybe the child is messenger.
For what sins
has the Golden Child?
Lightening rod for sunshine,
she warms our life.
She is the laughter maker
and the wonderer
at stars and flowers.
This child who is a giver
and taker of endless love
with the innocence of spring.
What mysterious guilt
has she hidden so well?
None, of course,
for even the hardened heart
can find no guilt?
If the plague has found her,
perhaps it is also for me!
Maybe she was sent
to tell my hardened heart that
plagues are for all of us.
The sins
we think should be punished
are not ours to decide.
Maybe that is the solemn message
from this child.