Yellow horse and silver sky and mist
And a red gate are driven to distraction..
If I can accept my fate as well
And trust the truth if things
I won’t swing off my hinges.
We’ll all cross all the oceans
And God’s love is what we’ll see –
We’re not marooned.
In all our hard lessons
In all our fragility –
It’s not God’s fault!
A red gate flung open.
No longer a red rag to a bull,
A little red riding hood,
A hoody’s blood- red meshing dropped
His Sheffield blade drawn
Trying to blow a gale gallant
For his lost tribe
And a lost tribe of OAP’s
Wandering the wilderness of the new England
The street rangers squared up to protect them
Outside the PO’s on Pension day
In new- fangled ingle- angle land
All the angles covered.
A red gate. A floodgate.
A triangle of all our intent
To be forever young
To face the aggressor inward – outward.
To get to the other side
Of the four winds.