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An Imperfect Life
poetry by Fr. Harold Macdonald
Quanta of Love
Only love can heal the soul; remedy
most joyful! Bitter to the taste at first
perhaps, the wounds being cleansed, anointed, nursed.
But soon a happy, wholesome chemistry.
From the Self of God comes love in quanta,
packs of light and warmth, infinitely quick
eagerly arrive before they start, they fix;
penetrate the thickest wall, undaunted.
Every created thing receives the light
Even black holes greedily consume it
Each morning sure she comes; we assume it
At her breast all suck, all play and all delight.
And so with love, stored up or poured out free.
The proof of love: God hanging on a tree.