Saturday, 16 May 2009



Perfection was the aim: even his writing
Was evidence of reaching for perfection,
Unlike my own crabbed hand. His mind delighting
In flawlessness could show a predilection
For no‑one of my kind; his approbation
Seemed to evade me ‑ rightly I confess.
Yet graciousness that salved our situation
Was further evidence of saintliness.

Those who each day saw him about his trade
Found no more apt description of him than,
In all their market, "the last gentleman".
They could not fathom that in all these days
Another Man was more and more displayed:
The Perfect Man, through faith, engaged his gaze.


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