Vision

I saw York Minster, felt its cloak of grace
The memory of God who was a Word
The Bible where there is a feeble trace

If we love, we may wish to embrace
The spirits and heart both gently stirred
I saw York Minster, felt its cloak of grace

Do not befriend another in great haste
Love may launch itself like a small bird
From the Ark where there is still a trace

These symbols are mostl potent in their space
The holy spirit alters as it’s heard
In Cathedrals in their cloaks of grace

I am become a cynic, bitter taste.
Death is the religion of these years
We need an Ark to save the human race

To be alive for many’s bleak and hard
Once we see the remnants of the charred
Compare the Minster, and its manmade grace
With the Bible’s golden and pure space