The rest of my version of T S Eliot’s poem:
I have spoken of trivial things,
in ignorance, negligence and through my own deliberate fault.
You have restored through my bright cloud of tears
the years the locusts have wasted
and given me a new verse to an ancient rhyme,
enabling me to redeem my dream; redeem the time.
No lost word is lost; no spent word is spent.
Your word is heard- the Word within
the world and for the world.
Your light shone in the darkness.
What has He done for me?
I do hope to turn again;
I do hope;
I hope to turn.
I no longer waver between profit and loss,
in this brief transit in which all dreams lead to the cross:
the dream-crossed twilight between birth and dying.
I am flying with unbroken wings -seaward,
towards a granite shore.
I hear the cry of quail and whirling plover
and glimpse shining forms between the ivory gates.
This is the time of tension between dying and birth.
Suffer us to have a sense of irony.
Teach us to care and not to care,
nor take ourselves too seriously.
Teach us to be still;
our peace is in His will.
And I pray the spirit of the sea
shall never let me know severance,
but will let my cry come unto Thee.