Monday, 23 November 2009


Dear Alastair, I trust you will
Forgive my verse's poverty
Since death points up the paucity
Of anything I claim of skill.

But what to you was bitter night
For me was cloud to shade my way;
Even my deepest empathy
Inevitably must be trite.

Though I am poor, One who is rich
Was watching with you in the dark
And from that night He left His mark -
His perfectly embroidered stitch.

He is the One who loves to dote
Upon this product of His own,
Rejoicing in the sweeter tone
And timbre of a well-tuned note.


  1. True: We are the apples of his eyes and not a hair falls off our head wihtout his permission.

  2. dear david, this poem is so much like a psalm written by the bible david who was "a man after god's own heart".
    it kind of reminds me of psalm 23.
    even though the night was dark, the cloud became a shelter where the lord walks along with his loved ones[like little marina's parents] as they walk in the shadow of death.
    he was ever near them and he still is, this perfect man who wept for lazaris. he understands and feels our pain....from terry

  3. Wow, you have some talent! Very nice poetry...


I'm glad to hear how this strikes you!