This Tattered Catechism

THIS tattered catechism weaves a spell, Invoking from the Long Ago a child Who deemed her fledgling soul so sin-defiled She practised with a candle-flame at hell, Burning small fingers, that would still rebel And flinch from fire. Forsooth not all beguiled By hymn and sermon, when her mother smiled, That smile was fashioning an infidel. 'If I'm in hell,' the baby logic ran, 'Mother will hear me cry and come for me. If God says no —I don't believe He can Say no to mother.' Then at that dear knee She knelt demure, a little Puritan Whose faith in love had wrecked theology.