childlike wonder

The Sky ~ A Poem by Elizabeth Madox Roberts

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Elizabeth Madox Roberts reminds us that wonder isn’t lost — it just waits for us to look up again.

Elizabeth Madox Roberts

I saw a shadow on the ground 
                        And heard a bluejay going by; 
                        A shadow went across the ground, 
                        And I looked up and saw the sky. 

                        It hung up on the poplar tree, 
                        But while I looked it did not stay; 
                        It gave a tiny sort of jerk 
                        And moved a little bit away. 

                        And farther on and farther on 
                        It moved and never seemed to stop. 
                        I think it must be tied with chains 
                        And something pulls it from the top. 

                        It never has come down again, 
                        And every time I look to see, 
                        The sky is always slipping back 
                        And getting far away from me.

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Reflection:

Elizabeth Madox Roberts’ “The Sky” captures that moment when a child’s curiosity touches infinity. What begins as a passing shadow becomes an awakening — a simple act of looking up. The poem unfolds in pure wonder, noticing the movement of the sky as if it were alive, chained, and gently tugged from above.

Through a child’s eyes, Roberts reveals something adults often forget: the world is always moving, breathing, and beckoning us to notice. The sky doesn’t actually slip away — we drift from it, buried in busyness. The poem invites us back into the mystery, reminding us that awe isn’t naïve — it’s sacred awareness.

Each time we pause to look at the sky, we reawaken the part of ourselves that still believes in wonder, movement, and unseen hands that keep the universe in motion.

Question for Readers:

When was the last time you stopped, looked up, and simply felt wonder? What did the sky say to you in that moment?

Light for the Journey: The Gentle Gift of Repition

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What if the secret to joy isn’t novelty, but finding wonder in what never changes? Chesterton flips our grown-up mindset on its head.

“Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.” ― G.K. Chesterton,

Reflection

G.K. Chesterton’s words remind us that children instinctively recognize something divine in repetition. Their fierce, free spirits shout, “Do it again!” not because they are bored, but because they delight in the familiar miracle. Adults, weary from the grind, lose this awe. We call it monotony. But maybe what we’ve really lost is innocence, gratitude, and attentiveness. Chesterton dares us to believe that God Himself never tires of painting the sky, blooming flowers, or waking the sun—because joy, not duty, drives the divine. What if every sunrise is not a mechanical rerun, but a whispered “Do it again” from a delighted Creator? Perhaps the invitation for us is not to escape the routine, but to see it with new eyes—like children do. Maybe the sacred hides in the repeated. And maybe—just maybe—our Father is younger than we are.

Wonder ~ A Poem by Robert W. Service

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Not all treasure is gold—some of it sparkles behind your eyes.

Wonder

Robert W. Service

For failure I was well equipped
      And should have come to grief,
By atavism grimly gripped,
      A fool beyond belief.
But lo! the Lord was good to me,
      And with a heart to sing,
He gave me to a rare degree
      The Gift of Wondering.

I could not play a stalwart part
      My shoddy soul to save,
And should have gone with broken heart
      A begger to the grave;
But praise to my anointed sight
      As wandering I went,
I sang of living with delight
      In terms of Wonderment.

Aye, starry-eyed did I rejoice
      With marvel of a child,
And there were those who heard my voice
      Although my words were wild:
So as I go my wistful way,
      With worship let me sing,
A treasure to my farewell day
      God’s Gift of Wondering.

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