Small Hand In Mine Poem by Bill Grace

This little hand that touches mine
Has brought me to a world greater than a legion's ears
And freedom more than 40,000 feet that grants the vision of the Mother's arc,
'What are you doing? ' she asks
Pointing to this long furtive affair with words.

I wish our men of steel
Could taste this nectar of a child's love
But too often their great power to observe
Blocks the embrace of experience
For if they could feel
Then powers' cruel propensities
Might prove a little less.