Colin F. Jones

THE YEAR OF OUR LORD, 2004

~ 1 ~

The end comes now and we reflect,
On the by gone days of the passing year,
None which our minds can now reject,
Stained by its joy its hope its fear.
Though the past retains its place in time,
The present keeps its memories pure,
That on them will the demons dine:
And Angels too, of that I’m sure.
And poets who have written much,
May well reflect upon their words,
While to their hearts their favourites clutch,
While smiling at their past absurds.
Yet thank the Lord they still can write,
A verse or two, that may delight.

~ 2 ~

We think of all those folk who died,
The soldiers in the desert sand,
Those starving children as they cried
The shaking old and withered hand.
Our memories dwell on sad event,
On joys achievement strong and grand,
The quiet moments that we spent,
Praying that the Lord understands.
And what we see seems to be true,
To what the good book doth foretell,
Lest the prophets of some magic knew,
A secret knowledge of Heaven and Hell.
For all the world just like our rhyme,
Is a consequence of rhythmic time.

~ 3 ~

So now tis Christmas time again,
The fluctuating patterns of our needs,
Bypass the dull hues of our pain,
That thoughts of self and woe recedes.
For on Christmas day the Lord was born,
Jesus Christ the Son of God,
To rid the Earth of hate and scorn,
Who died and rose from earthen sod.
We celebrate this day divine,
Sharing love and gifts and friends,
For a moment forgetful of real time,
That time, itself, briefly lends…
For still the guns of war resound
Across the evil killing grounds.