I often spend week-ends in heaven, And so I know him well. Most times he is too busy thinking things To talk; But then, I like his still aloofness And superior ease. I can't imagine him in armor, or in uniform, Or blowing like a windy Caesar Across the fields of Europe, Or snooping in my mind To find what I am thinking, Or being jealous of the darling idols I have made. If ever that slim word -- aristocrat -- Belonged to anyone, it is to God. You should see him steadying the wings Of great thoughts starting out On flight -- Very like a scientist trying a machine. Patrician, cool, in a colored coat Rather like a mandarin's; Silver sandals -- quite a picture! I can't see him Fluttering in wrathful haste, Or dancing like a fool. I don't go there often -- Only when I'm at my best. I save up things: Pictures of the sea wild with white foam, Stories of engines beating through the clouds, News of earth in storm and sun, Some new songs -- the best. He's fond of being entertained With what I choose to tell him of myself -- Very kind about tomorrow, Indifferent of yesterday. He's like that -- God in his heaven -- alone. I know, for I made him, put him there Myself. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE HOME STRETCH by ROBERT FROST THEN LAUGH by BERTHA ADAMS BACKUS LINES WRITTEN TO HIS WIFE [WHILE ON A VISIT TO UPPER INDIA] by REGINALD HEBER SONNET TO A CLAM by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE WRITER'S JOURNAL: POSSESSION by BAYARD TAYLOR THE CANAL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN TESTAMENT FOR MY STUDENTS, 1968 - 1969 by KAY BOYLE |