Bull’s Eye View
The gods of childhood are the only gods,
Leaving no root-space for a second kind.
Infused by sleep, doctrinal fancy prods
The less-defended reaches of the mind,
Seeking for something that was never lost;
Down in the final mazes, creed can find
Only dim traces where the gods have crossed.
Meanwhile, untended curiosity
Withers away or petrifies: out-tossed,
The hope of explanation leaves one free
From needing to explain. The sleeper nods,
Released by self’s perversity to see
How mercifully far against the odds
The gods of childhood are. The only gods.
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Ruth Baker would be
pleased to hear them