My dear friend Dona Lou Pearson wrote this about something I wrote ("For Michael") and sent it to me today (06/26/00). She truly never ceases to amaze me with her brilliance.  Her excellent and sensitive insight into something I had written a number of years ago, under very deep personal circumstances, simply astounds me.  - poetheart 06/26/00

It happened that night
Just like some cosmic joke
An accident, of sorts
For surely it was unintentional
Two strangers met (by Fate?)
The strangers kissed in haste
And touched, and then, too late
They realized their folly
And never met again at all

But consequences always come
When least expected, as they do
The accidental strangers' meeting
Had generated wanton heat
And generated more than lust
A new heart started beating
And the woman, asking nothing
Not for love or for a name
Carried on and carried life
And the man's life just went on

And, in time, a child was born
He had sweetness in his smile
And his absent father's eyes
Though his life was an enigma
Father and son, two strangers
Each abiding in their separate worlds
Never knowing one another's thoughts
So it went, till the father's great sorrow
For the lust of yesterday
Became the grief of tomorrow
And tomorrow and tomorrow...

Yet there is another ending
And a way to see this rightly:
That perhaps the two young lovers
Who were strangers in the night
Were not really "in control"
They were driven by their bodies
Like two heat-seeking missles, while
The target then was hit right on Time,
In the Marvelous Economy of God
For, although to partake of heedless pleasure
May cause an "uninvited" soul to come
Yet Life, even thoughtlessly produced,
Is always in the hands of Someone Else
Do we blame Him for his gifts?
Do we blame Him for his giving?
Life and Death are His decision
And He gives and He takes
According to His measure
Which can only be Perfection

When He gives, we give
Thanks For the so temporary treasure
When He takes, we must accede
That He knows what He is doing,
Life is His, Death is His also
We are His, though dead or Living
There is no arguing with God
There is no argument with Life
Life is not to be argued, but to be lived
And to learn from, though some lessons
Hurt so much more than others.

© 2000 by Dona Lou Pearson

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