NEARER THE MAKER THAN MADE

NEARER THE MAKER THAN MADE

It’s time to make pictures out of clouds again,

As I lie in a meadow in the long cushioned grass.

When days are warm and sky of the brightest blue,

The skylark heralds summer with his joyous song from high.

Then I walk through country lane and spangled arbour,

Lovers hand in hand, secretly tread in the jewel encrusted grove.

Ghosts now, what once was, just ghosts amongst the leafy sentinels.

My eyes brimming with natures fill, drenched in mystical wonder,

As realisation brings home the cold truth, my time is near.

Watched all the time by the ageless sun, I’m nearer the maker than made.

The spark may fade and the spirit be dulled, but I see, I feel, I need as ever.

The golden sand that once sieved through my toes reminds me again,

To those far off days of youthful promise captured in black and white.

So, if I gaze at you fear not, it’s my snapshot of friends for my album,

A catalogue for my eternal travels, with a blessing from my soul.

This love of life cannot defy time, with age beckoning the racing clock,

With clouding eyes I still drink in the world and all its beauty.

Every chirrup of a sparrow or the merest stroke of breeze on my cheek,

Will I cherish, before the ground with which I’ll spend eternity,

Folds its cloying arms around me.

Phil Hall    September 2011