Beloved child, a silent form carved with his mother’s tears
Immortalised in innocence, now sleeping through the years.
Above him yet another Child is carried through the stream
Upon a giant’s shoulders, with the clarity of dream.
Around them both, as painted scenes, a story old as love,
Depicts, in medieval garb, the quest for the Above.
Yet skeletons are dancing, garbed in bone as white as snow
To show that sinner, saint or king, where each of us must go
Beyond the portals of this world, when life has run its course
In spite of faith, or lack of it, to union with the Source.
Beck ‘n’ Call