Sunset Over Skane
Here King Ale lies three thousand years
Or more. Until the end of time appears
These stones will mark his comb. The sun will rise
Over the timeless stones; the sun will set
In silent flames over the ship of stones;
And Ale will smile from where he now abides
At his great monument, the labour, the cost,
The folly. But ever such were men. Here
Man is rooted, submerged in matter: beyond
This seeing, feeling life of flesh and blood
How could we guess a higher life exists?
A life devoid of matter, feeling, time,
A life of immense freedom to know and love,
A life that would not end beneath the stones,
Who could suspect such wonders? The mythic King
And modern man no less are sceptics here.
We live for the taste of life, the feel, the sight,
The endless music; we cling to senses, deny
The grave and toast the Inn of Merriment.
But grace is ever at work. God melts our pride,
His presence caters the person’s darkest place
That we might witness the sunrice of his face…