It's the little things we do that leave an imprint of ourselves.
Tiny gestures: a lock of hair lightly brushed aside;
A stroked chin;
Arched and twinkling eyes.
We know them by their gait:
The penguin-shuffle, the ambling ape,
The urgent pace of a trotting fox,
The slow deliberation of a stork;
By words well learnt through much repeating;
Warm hand-grasps, the hearty greeting;
Windmill arms that flail the air;
A hesitant cough, the solemn stare;
Granddad seated, hands on knees;
Jovial Uncle, out to tease;
Aunt, so elegant, sipping tea
Her little finger for all to see.
By simple things we are known.
And in a garden long ago
She knew Him as He spoke her name: "Mary".
In a village called Emmaus
At the breaking of the bread, He was known.
And wonderfully alive, though short-time slain,
They knew Him by the imprints of His pain.