Waking.
In this most enlightened age
where hours flash by
the nearer I come to my final
breath the brighter sun
looks when it rises each day
and the fiercer tumble
beached waves of neap-tides
bleached more silver
than my sight recalls seeing.
Waking to glory- fresh view
morning in full spate,
purged and portraying allure
makes my urge keener
to grasp its airy exultation.
I see anew a bluer
sky look longer at falling rain
and smile wider at roots
shouldering through to green.
Being alive is enough if Love
lights the day for while
closer draws endings greater
the need to peer again
and hear how earth's music
accepts hard-won time,
alters worn keynotes to wait
for more beginnings,
re-charged for livelier tunes.