Memory lane is a window pane
Of kaleidoscopic, colour glass stain
Some bright and crisp, as morning meadow
Some dusky and soft, an embers last glow
With pictures of joy, drenched in gold light
Wrung out and pegged up, eternal delight
Some flashes of fear though seep through my glass
Tormented hours of horrors unpassed
And though one could chose to smash out those panes
Would not those sharp fragments, wound just the same?
So hence I shall sit, in heaven’s light bathed
As my cathedral which was, is coloured again.
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