"WHERE are my glasses?" she would call; "I've left them somewhere; run and find them." Aware where 'twas she used them most, I knew the Bible had enshrined them. And sure enough, tucked safe away In what seemed Scriptural morasses They lay; the print just underneath Looked larger through my mother's glasses. I'm old now, and my outlook's changed; My boyhood notions and convictions Have been discarded, been enlarged, Been modified with queer restrictions. But something at the core abides; My faith, though shrunk each year that passes, Yet breathes, yet lives. The Book of Books Looks larger through my mother's glasses. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SUMMER'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST BONDAGE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON COSMOPOLITE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MIDDLETON PLACE by AMY LOWELL SONNET by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON OFFICE PARTY: DISTAFF VIEW by KAREN SWENSON THE PLAYERS ASK FOR A BLESSING ON THE PSALTERIES AND ON THEMSELVES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |