He helps me keep alive those active cells
that sometimes light the spark of thought anew,
hoping that the cave where reason dwells
might warm with feeling as it used to do.
When thought and feeling fuse, just now and then
and blood rejuvenates the numbing brain
the ageing world regains its glory when
light and laughter match the constant rain.
That surge of mystery, that day in night
encapsulates an element of grace,
a moment of existence brought to light,
cradled in a sonnet’s firm embrace.
Such moments of delight his words conceive,
So much for me his sonnet can achieve.
George Wilson
With the kind permisson of the author
