To see the greatness of Creation
- greater than science, greater than religion –
and perhaps to see in mind, perhaps to praise,
look to the smallest things.

Even before the mustard-seed of faith
today I choose - the forget-me-not, and its thoughtful seeds. It
has this habit of, each year, colonising
a different area of the garden; and I wonder,

what is its essential character? Is it
like that prim, fussy, difficult elder relative, for whom
you’ve carefully arranged a day out somewhere
then when you tell her as a nice surprise she says
oh I’ve been there, as if you’re just thoughtless and
that puts the kybosh on it?

or like some energetic missionary – plant the seed
of faith, then move on fast, don’t wait
to see whether it’s taken root, move on, there’s
so much more to do, so many souls…

or like some far-eyed, romantic Wild West pioneer,
who looks into the glory of the setting sun
and pushes onward, ever onward,
to unknown splendours under a Western sun
until one day, there’s blue beyond the furthest ridge?

or, like a child with sparkling eyes, mischievous, laughing,
saying, let's play hide-and-seek, now close your eyes
and count to ten, no I'm not there, or there, or there,
I'm here, and here, and here...

or is it Creation’s memory of itself, itself,
reduced by some wise cosmic greatness
of the miracle of miniaturisation
to a still small voice, so small
that only the eye can hear it,
blue as an angel’s clear blue mind,
saying, forget Me not



(for Scarlett, who added to the fun)

Michael Shepherd

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0320-forget-me-not/