Hearing Glory’s Music …

All that sinfully-wasted time –

Was it really so very long ago? –

All those fumbling words; so many

Maybe each of them would have lost interest,

Walked away, beyond my yearning reach.

And, all the while me, believing

I was dancing smoothly, faultlessly

In pure-diamond skies, hearing

Glory’s music in the slow-spiralling

Falls of angel feathers.

Could it be

I was, simply,

Always failing, slipping

Back to the minefield square

Where you have to throw a six,

Miss a go or

Pay a fine?

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Grey

Thin, quiet and

Slow, so-slow

That strip of ghost-near land

‘Tween fog-roll banks and

God-dark’d limits of Heaven.

Wearing grey coat, grey mood

I am disquieted observer –

Intruder perhaps –

Unable to decide whether

Light and season

Are approaching

Or leaving

The stage.

There is glory

Both in the winning

And the giving away.