Our First Communion

I was six years old
that Pentecost day
My hair was curled
My dress was new
I saw pride in my mother’s eyes
The aunts and uncles came
with gifts and smiles
It was the day of my first communion

The church was full
with people seeking
but I did not find God in there
It was outside
in a field of white
that I met my Maker
His gift to me;
Identity
on that day of our first communion

Els W

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About The Author

Els W

A lover of simple beauty, her poetry often stops us and reminds us to listen to the quieter voices around us calling out in delicate blooms from beneath the blades of grass at our feet.

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