Poem February 16, 1963 Issue

LIBERATION

Nyla May Foreman

My Father put me in a great city
(I, who love flower, bird, and open sky).
In a teeming, vast metropolis
am I.

So long I mourned, and yearned
for those days when freedom came
and released me to space, to sea.
And then I knew—

I work in the garden of His planting;
each face, a flower; each noble life, the fruit.
This city, this place of freedom's bower,
His vineyard; the cold frame for the absolute.

Nyla May Foreman

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"The oil of joy"
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