Posted by: duncandrews | March 19, 2009



I set myself to read your word,
to study you from all you’ve said;
to see behind to things inferred
or hidden; but find instead
I bow my head:
it’s me being read.

I set myself to judge and find
the clever or uncertain part;
to put in category and kind.
But judgement came on as a dart
upon my art,
my soul, my heart.

I wrestled with a verse or two
to figure out the feel and flow.
Undoubtably it was good to do
and I’m pleased; yet strangely know
the wrestled foe
is me – such woe!

And yet such joy! For I set myself
to love you more, to love you best;
but when my love stayed on the shelf,
dusty, weak, I heard ‘Child, rest.
It’s you loved best;
in my love you are blest.’


  1. Nice

  2. Thanks mate.

  3. Good one Son

  4. Thanks Mum 🙂 Glad you like

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