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So busy, that the hours slip away

As if my work alone makes life worthwhile

And thoughts of you can be ignored until

The work is done.

So busy, that I could feel quite content

Filling every moment of the day

In service and good works as if that might

Just be enough.

So busy, that I hardly think of you;

The office passes, words upon my lips,

The pages turn, as if it will suffice

To have read through.

While you, who caused whatever is to be -

From distant star to barnacles that sit

Gently flushing in the evening tide -

Are waiting, still.

As if all you had to do eternally

Was listen for that moment when I say

I've reached the end and there is nothing more

That I can do.

But turn, at last, hoping you will be there -

Forgetting that, while I might drift away

You never moved -  to sort out the chaos

In my life.

And silently, before the words are said

You've smoothed the edges, planed away the points,

Set back the joints and stood me on my feet,

Complete again.

When will I Iearn to see the maker's mark

Rather than emoting like a child

Raging in the playground, where no harm

Can ever come

Save for the self inflicted bruises and the

Pain of needless separation, from

The One whose love will always keep me true

While life endures.

Brian Hick December 2012

©copyright Sally Hick 4.12.24