(Oxfordshire, Easter Sunday, 1995)
By camper, car, and caravan
Creeping, slowly seeking
Along the sloping open road
Alert with eyes rolled naked
Lest they pass The very town,
The turn, the way (it’s told)
Will lead to reborn treasure, wholeness’ heart,
To all they’ve learned this lurching life
On this desired, this dream-deferréd day–
This day of all the year, at last arrived–
They find for watchfulness a full reward
As booted angels, flinging back the lids,
Reveal old wares, seen through their eyes
While in a lonely land so long away
Three weeping wishing women seek the Dead.
With him their dreams have died, yet they would pay
With love’s small coin grief’s yearning due.
But finding not, with angel-opened sight
They know the Dead Alive,
Who from his life full treasure gives
Of life and heart and eyes.
And here, numb eyes dead toys caress
And cannot find the road. The turn, they miss.
by Catrin Lewis, 1995. All rights reserved