Lawrence
Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
When You Were a
Little Child with a Crayon
When first your hand, your little hand, picked up
A crayon, a brush, a pencil, a marker, a pen
And with your hand, your little hand, your pen
You flung your thoughts onto a paper pad
(Or onto your parents’ freshly painted walls)
You introduced your words into the world
You introduced yourself, your words, your soul
And Eden was happy again, with your poems
Running barefoot among the singing trees
(Perhaps God smiled and asked)
Whose are these hands, these little hands
Making fresh new words for my young and growing world?
