Shame on you. Nigel is delghtful. So is Kit Smart.
Fruitcake
God walks on earth tall as a millionaire.
Nightly I see him, striding on the hill
About the holy business of his will.
I see the starshine tangled in his hair,
The perfume of his robe is everywhere,
He calls to me across the windowsill.
The moon stashed in his pocket and the air
Fraught with divinity, so sweet and still.
Most people say the world, the world’s the thing:
The otherness out there of sex and story,
The love of lucre and the love of friends
The plot and counterplot and happy ends;
They say the world’s the thing. Not I, not I.
Lord, let me fly to you. Lord, let me fly
And hide my head for ever in your glory,
My God, my Saviour and my Everything.
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