This Year of Grace.


Alone I walked the darkening lane,

The wintered tees were bleeding rain,

The lightened windows beckoned home,

Why then should I have cause to roam?


Did duty call, what duty could,

The wandering was in my blood,

The searching out, the need to stray,

The endless roads that lead away.


A sun-kissed Caribbean beach,

So often just within my reach,

The forests and the mountain range,

Mans monuments obscure and strange.


Yet here is home, the resting place,

The settling chair, my lovers face,

The dog that curls beneath my feet,

Where in the world is half as sweet.


I feel the autumn of my years,

But each new-year has fewer fears,

And I must live with proud resolve,

Some primal mystery to solve.


Oh yes the years are passing by,

To say ‘no matter’ proves a lie,

It matters much, times bite is hard,

But still I wait the turning card...


What care I be it ace or knave,

I’m this years master not its slave,

It sends me richer hour by hour,

I have no fear of waning power.


The wintered trees are bleeding rain,

Just absolution from my pain,

The lightened window speaks of hope,

A levelled road, no downward slope.


I will stride on, I will seek out,

No place for enmity or doubt,

I’ll spin my rhymes and tell my tale,

I will not falter, cannot fail.


This resolution from my heart ,

I’ll gather in not set apart,

I’ll grasp and hold each fleeting chance,

I'll lead my lover to the dance.


And as we swirl and as we sway,

This love of life shall have her way,

If god there is he made this place,

And from his gifts this year of grace




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John Coopey

Mon 2nd Jan 2012 23:14

Very thought-provoking, Ian. But strangely I was reminded of a different perspective - the hymn, "How Little I am in it All".

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M.C. Newberry

Mon 2nd Jan 2012 14:52

This would surely comply with the conditions of
WOLcomp on this site. An uplifting essay on
the passing of time and the constant human
optimism that makes life what it is.

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