And now for clean smart shoes,
not the older ones clarried in
Fair Hill Farm muck (where
a sheep struggled to drop an
early Easter day lamb while a
donkey, meek and motionless,
with mute empathy looked on)
Or coarse sand clinging from a
continuing stroll on the Strand,
us with flask and hot cross buns
celebrating the Sun rise
on the day the Son rose.
(And, were you aware that donkeys
bear a cross on their backs too.)
Ah Elohim! O Ancient of Days!
anteceding the 13.8 billion
years of this spinning, swirling
exploding, expanding Universe
Where we are ‘a lonely speck in
the great enveloping cosmic
darkness with none from without
to save us from ourselves’; but
Are not the hairs of my head
numbered, my evanescent
times in Your hands on this
pulchritudinous Pale Blue Dot;
Should I come, should I go,
should I fly, should I flunk,
to Thee alone my days being known?
Ah Hashem! O Ancient of Days!
lifeintheshortstaycarpark 