If the householder had known at what hour the burglar would come.
He would not let let anyone break through the wall of his house.
We all rely too much on comfort’s crumb.
Our faith is as timid as any harvest mouse.

In my dream I climbed a never ending staircase.
Below me, sun dappled, a beautiful port lay spread out.
I sought the viewing tower and grace.
Then others queue barged and put my dreams to rout.

With these people I was angry.
And I was rude.
I stared at them blankly.
Perhaps I should have spared a thought for the Holy Rood.

But I was too obsessed with some passing slight.
To look upon the glorious view and see the light.