AT LEAST I TRIED
I couldn’t do that said the woman as she
watched a potter with his clay,
She longed to try but felt that she never had
enough time in the day,
She used to visit the showroom and watch his
his working hands,
Wanted to sign up for classes but always seemed
to have other plans.
She then read some poems, felt she had somewhere
deep down within
The ability to write stories and poems, then said
‘it’s just a passing whim’,
But it tugged at her heartstrings as if something
said there inside
Go on writing something from the heart your
talents never hide.
Then one day she passed away and was greeted
with warmth and love,
The angel looked under talents asked for her
model of a turtle dove
And vases she imagined moulded and thrown
in warm, moist clay,
Or where was all the poetry that deep within still
dormant lay.
Fortunately she awoke from the dream that
very special night,
Do, and I’ll do it that thought came through clear
bold and bright.
When I get to heaven now I can say in truth
that at least I tried.
For no God given talents should we bury dark
away or hide.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 20 June 2004