Sharing another poem this Sunday by Anne Porter. I think this was one of the first I ever read by her and made me fall in love with her poetry.

The Icon

Here in this icon out of ancient Russia
Brown as amber the little Mother of God
Holding her infant to her cheek
Is present to us
In all her wise
And peaceful sorrow

A forest hermit painted this
They say at night his face
Lit up the snow

He befriended robbers
And often gave
The bears his bread. 

Anne Porter