Why the HG is Holy

The Holy Ghost was browsing in his or her library

one day in the future, unaccountably bored,

oddly querulous, vaguely wanting something that would be

quietly unfamiliar. "It doesn't have to be great,"

said the Holy Ghost with the faintest note of exasperation

in his or her voice, "just so long as it has

its own special character."

Gliding along the billion shelves,

incredibly graceful despite his or her mood.

Then the deft and lovely hand of the Holy Ghost lit

on a slim volume of poetry—

it was your book.

It was your book.

The first poem caused the Holy Ghost to frown;

ah, but not with disdain, rather with curiosity!

The second poem brought a brightening of divine eyes.

And the page was turned as if by a pensive breeze.

Maybe it happened after your death, but so what? It

happened.

"I'm taking this back to my perfect desk,"

said the HG. "This is really something."

Source: Little Star (William Morrow and Company, Inc., 1987)