Beneath these grey hairs
And this wrinkled rucksack of a face,
I am a lion, still.

And just, just
Upon the edge of knowing
That place where songs are born
And prophets made.

At my post
I wait and listen, listen:
Far away and deep within
The winds whisper the great Lion’s roar.

And I see through the trees
The sunset
As night falls
A leaf upon the earth.

O that I might arrive
At that chink in time in time,
With time enough to love,
Before I go hence.

‘Some of you will not taste of death until you have seen the Kingdom of God come in power.’ Mark 9:1

Elliott Tepper