He walked the hall of dark​ness

Toward where the light had shone

But the headlamp of the coming train –

Was on

 

He strolled with tunnel vision

His eyes deceived by rain

It was only a short shower –

Umbrella’s sweet refrain

 

He dawdled down the road less travelled

He heard thunder – more like hail –

His hearing was imperfect –

He was frail

 

He crawled upon the avenue

To the parkland – hear the band

His sight showed him perfection –

Then he ran

 

For he could not face perfection

Even excellence could be

Pristine in the valley –

Unspoiled in the sea

 

And he could not bear consider merit

It did not sit well with him –

Though hard-fought, his achievements (such as they were)

Had been

 

But those were for others to judge

When they had the time

In the tunnel, in the parkland,

In the valley, in the rain,

The light, still bright, like sunshine

Whence it came.

Published by Owen Tilley