"All Miracle"
A Four Volume Series of Poetry
Elizabeth Rooney

Here to


Morning in March

Today's a day for kites,
For things that soar --
For spirits and for hawks
And songs of praise.
Everything longs to fly --
Shingles, the flag,
The laundry on the line,
Old leaves, small boys.
All kinds
Of tied-down things
Are pulling hard
And straining at their strings.
Old mother earth, let go!
They will come back
After a turn or two
Around the sky.
But right now
Sun, wind, spring --
Oh, everything --
Keep calling them to fly!



The cross could not cry out,
It simply held Him there.
Silent supporter of Him
In His pain,
It stood
Mute, helpless, wood.
I feel as helpless as the cross
To stop your pain,
Can only hold you
When it comes again,
Be with you
In this hurt I can't prevent
And hold you
Till your suffering is spent.



Now is the shining fabric of our day
Torn open, flung apart,
Rent wide by Love.
Never again
The tight, enclosing sky,
The blue bowl,
Or the star-illumined tent.
We are laid open to infinity,
For Easter Love
Has burst His tomb and ours.
Now nothing shelters us
From God's desire --
Not flesh, not sky,
Not stars, not even sin.
Now Glory waits
So He can enter in.
Now does the dance begin.

May Morning

There's a silver star
And a cloud's turned pink.
It's the loveliest time in the world,
I think --
A morning in May
When the day is new
And the rising sun's just breaking through.
The light spreads gold
On the leaves of spring
And the birds
And my heart
Begin to sing.