Strange poetry

I am not much of a believer in the innocence of children - I recall my childhood all too well - and I have a certain inborn resistance against sentimentality. There are, however, some pictures from time to time to which it would be inhuman not to soften. Yesterday, for instance, I was at mass. On the other side from me there was a large Indian family, father, mother and some children, of whom the smallest can hardly have been more than three. As the Eucharistic Prayer proceeded towards the Consecration, I saw her start doing a silent dance, turning and turning on herself, with a thoughtful expression on her face. A little girl of two or three, dancing alone by herself in the presence of God.