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A sonnet of melting worlds
Written on a train to and from my great grandson Max’s
baptism at Farm Street Church in London
The hard edged rocky world of grit and stone
Is washed and formed anew by seas whose strength
Erodes, destroys, yet builds a land regrown
By motions changing earth’s frail height and length.
And time, who eats our days, a plastic realm,
Grants but a glimpse of self and human power.
Its truth beguiling – yet will overwhelm –
For nothing stops the passing of each hour.
We have a melting truth for flesh and blood:
The one in whom we all dissolve and die –
Each fleeting life is borne upon this flood
Into the arms of love to whom we cry.
The end will end beyond my words and dreams
For nothing’s always what it never seems.
© Neil Thompson 2026