Smoke rises slowly like an out-of-body flight
Into the unknowing skies of glorious light.
The sun’s warmth, glimpsed, behind the gauze of clouds,
Reassures and comforts, beyond the shrouds
Of change, of metamorphosis,
From one existence, being-state,
Into the other reality’s gate,
To open which the soul presents a key:
The letter-plate of God’s morality.

Yet ‘tis not enough. Unless God’s grace
Is gifted first to bring us faith.

The soul’s uplifted then,
By heaven’s strange forgiving power;
Is borne aloft, like feathery plumes of snowy white
That slowly rise, out and
Up, from the chimney of a country lodge
Close to the sandy seaside town of Southwold:
Plumes to welcome home the traveller of life,
Home to the holy shepherd’s fold.

The clouds of white and greys and light,
Created light amidst the blue, so beautiful
As is their cue, I comprehend their Maker.
They perch like Scottish castles, French chateaux
On mountain sides; in still calm lochs below
Their silent perfection admits reflection.

Castles above that prance and dance
Across the skies, plumed with coronets of silver,
Haloed around with the source of Light,
Remind us that we may live for ever.

The wings of seraphim, layer upon deep layer, lie outspread;
Angelic beings watching and waiting: a celestial host.
An archipelago of sunlit, sacred isles float in the sea sky.
A feeding swan upon a pond, all elegance and slow,
All grace and dignity, embedded and imbued
In her pure white, supremely divine beauty.