Christopher Shepheard Biography

Though marked and measured, mountainous the path
That patience preaches — ligature and lath
To hold up heaviness in harness — moulds who moon-
Rake, trudge, with sun-scorched shoulders, dune upon dune.
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I did not fear my birth
Into this fluttering breath
Where decimal places of measured time
Resolve their way to death.
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You were like looking in from the rain
On a Christmas Eve, when the hearth is ablaze,
When the warmth oozes out through the window pane
And the sodden byways glisten and glaze
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An enterprise for zealots to pursue
Who felt within their skills a worship quickening
To build a spire of stone and thereby light
The heavens up, for all men to acquire.
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You wear your years like jewels
That time cannot waste or weather —
A face that lips might laze upon
And angels’ glances gaze upon
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