The vanity of being read (perhaps a homage to the dead?)
Is like the chirping of a bird, and yes, OK, the bird is heard,
But am I tree that falls in wood, a passing Grace, not understood?
Or is there tear in reader’s eye, my verse discovered hug? I try
To hope they feel my heart’s intent, for on this earth my time’s now spent
Revealing self, though ‘cloud in the air, ‘ I’m thrilled if I get noticed there.
I wonder if God feels this way when Bible’s message touches clay
He breathed on once to father man; His kiss bestowed as kisses can
(When mortals find they’ve time enough, to sit awhile with Holy stuff.)
God make it so! Let it be true! My poem’s too bless one like you,
He knows my sin (may Grace atone) , what chance have I to call by phone,
But poetry, my song, my art, God grant that it may serve your heart!
Brian Johnston
17th of June 1018
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