A Poem By David A.E. Murdoch.
When does a man stop to look at his path?
When the petals are closing in its aftermath,
Drained of the vigour which carried him on
A light in the realm of death’s scurrying dawn,
Last year when the sun called my sepal to rise,
The salt on my temples smelled out enterprise,
But a weakness like gangrene devoured my pride,
Now I’m pleading with angels to ne’er leave my side,
When a man stiffs his collar and looks to the sky,
And ventures a question awaiting reply,
The answer the question he offered so low,
In asking is answered with no quid pro quo,
To ponder essential on ways bound with fear,
Racing at mazes no longer “it’s clear!”,
To compass my journey with wisdom and guile,
Leaves heaven’s companions to marvel and smile.
*From ‘Flying My Own Plane’ by David A.E. Murdoch,
compiled by Christine Wilkie. See Article.
Thanks to Christine for contributing the above.
Flying My Own Plane By David A. E. Murdoch is available
on Amazon, at Waterstones, Aberdeen, and on the
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