"Primrose," by Patrick Kavanagh

Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer
Of one small primrose flowering in my mind.
Better than wealth it is, I said, to find
One small page of Truth's manuscript made clear.
I looked at Christ transfigured without fear —
The light was very beautiful and kind,
And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signed
I read it through the lenses of a tear.
And then my sight grew dim, I could not see
The primrose that had lighted me to Heaven,
And there was but the shadow of a tree
Ghostly among the stars. The years that pass
Like tired soldiers nevermore have given
Moments to see wonders in the grass.

+ Patrick Kavanagh

Often acclaimed as one of the greatest Irish poets since William Butler Yeats, Kavanagh frequently turned to theological subjects — by some counts, fully half of his poems explore the spiritual dimensions of life, particularly as experienced in the natural world.

On the surface, this one is a heartbreaking meditation on the lost insight of childhood. And yet its poignant beauty is itself a “wonder in the grass,” and in that sense serves as an invitation to become children of God again, recovering anew the kind of fresh, open sight through which Christ may be glimpsed in a wildflower, if we have eyes to see.