Marks upon a page

The wonder is that marks upon a page,
Letters made by ancestors long gone,
Create the symphonies of peace and rage.

Untutored genius of primitives afraid;
To whom their many gods were never one
We wonder  at the marks upon this page,

Let  us not their memory degrade
Nor criticise them  worshipping the Sun
We ‘plait together all our love and rage.

And if our growing up has been delayed
If we fear  the Good  as yet unwon,
We can leave our writs upon the page.

For we are often lost in  shadowed caves
And effort may by shock be quite undone
We make embroidered cloths of wisdom aged.

Own our guilt so sinners are not shunned
Own our joy if happiness is won.
The wonder is that marks upon a page,
Can bear indignities of peace and rage.