Poem March 12, 1966 Issue

FOR A PRACTITIONER

Joanne Mazna Garinger

I called for help tonight;
your warm voice comforted me.

No physical evidence threatened—and yet—
Some agonizing sense of danger!
How did it happen—
A broken battlement? A door unguarded?
Sentry half asleep?
Suddenly before me stood the enemy.

I called for help tonight
to rout the foe from my door.
With love you turned my trembling
into trust—
buckled my armor, sharpened my sword,
tempered my steel.
Your lamp held high, scattered the shadows.

As I drew the blade
my enemy fled,
and we stood there laughing.

Joanne Mazna Garinger

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