Happy Birthday E.E. Cummings

Today is the birthday of E.E. Cummings, a rowdy poet older than my dad, younger than my grandmother. With a name like Edward Estlin I would have signed my work e.e. cummings too, but I would never have had the courage to write like he did.

My favorite of all of his poems is "the balloon man." I can't find it at the moment.There are a number of his poems on line, and one that would go well with the four pictures of the Cave Hills church I have on here, somewhat by accident. The last two stanzas of his "i am a little church (no great cathedral)follow:

i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
--i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)