Lying on my sofa in the late-afternoon sun
I sink into time, and time takes me
To the duck-egg blue of the cabinet
And I see that somebody – somebodies –
Made all of
this.
Wrote these books,
Painted these paintings,
Fitted these windows, more than once;
Plastered these walls,
Played this music,
And laid these pine floorboards,
A century and more ago.
Somebodies made these things of beauty,
These things of practicality,
And now their commingling voices
Come rippling through time.
Countless hands, countless minds,
Countless contributions, both seen and unseen;
Cups of tea made,
Dishes washed,
Secrets heard,
Locks fixed.
Tears streaming down my face, now I see:
The preciousness of our souls cannot be measured
By the size or visibility of our contributions.
