Favorite Poems
Throughout My Life
66: “When I Consider How My Light Is
Spent,” 1655 (?), by John Milton (1608–74)
I did not
take a course in him—
I was a bit
afraid of him—
Until I read
a lot of him.
And then I
found how wrong I’d been—
How silly
and afraid I’d been—
How
self-defeating I had been.
He writes
how—now that he is blind—
How can he
write (for he is blind)?
He questions
God: Why am I blind?
His
questioning is much like ours—
His anguish
is a lot like ours—
His
humanness—oh, just like ours.
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