There is a certain comic heroic air
In a sidelong view of my silly petulance.
Clattering down in calamitous dusty thunder
Pasteboard cards demand to be rebuilt
Despite the dismay of the ruins of all that is.
But all that is, is far too big for me
I cannot bear too much of it at a time.
What is, is through nothing else but love
Meted out in generous frugality;
Forth from the Eternal Moment, cut to size
To fit the confines of restrictive time.
What is is greater praise than what is not
Diapers changed than greatness dreamed about;
And what is asked is greater than what is done
The mop demanded than the chosen Mass.
And so what is (this mop bucket) Is Indeed.
And here, and now, and nowhere else, all Grace,
All Strength, All Peace, All Joy, All Love, is found.