Saturday, 30 August 2008



A paean,
Eruption of soul and spirit,
Touching the King.

Bursting from silence
I prophesy the Coming One,
The Day Spring.

Stolid, a craftsman, why
Choose me as trustee of
The Holy Thing?

Though the weather cuts
And stones abrade,
Nettles and thorns sting

We glory in our pilgrimage
More than in ease
Or governing

Glad to be encumbered ‑
Gold, frankincense and myrrh ‑
By gifts we bring.

More than an angel
Redeemed, directed, lightened,
I now can sing.

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I'm glad to hear how this strikes you!