John May Biography

Because the morning sun is gold
Because the smell of loam is bold
Because there's warmth within the cold
I know that I am Spring
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I never thought that mortal eyes
Could peer upon an angel's face
Much less see one from vault'd skies
Descend in splendid grace
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The killing of a spider's right
If not from fear, then yes, from spite
For be it even ever small
A dot upon a wall of white
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It hugged the pillars of that pier
With trumpet waves that crashing sprayed
And low above it seagulls sang
To I, the priest who by it prayed
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