There was a boy who came into this world at the hands of a holy woman in a holy place
He wore a red coat and walked a bulldog-saw them reflected in the mirror of the lakes
Lived in the shadow of the mountains with the smells of disinfectant, dusty old leather and the polished wood of his bed
No more than a baby feeding swans on the river holding the hands of his mother, and the wax paperbag of yesterdays bread
And his father on the other side of the world
On the ships railings and some far away tide
With the silent dry tear of home thoughts from abroad in his far away eyes
In his far away eyes
The smell of the wax on the wooden floor
Mixture of polish and soap
No children to fear or to play with
Rows of empty hooks for the coats
An upright piano and the boys in the choir
Still remind him of just before he was born
Remind him of just before he was breathing
Strange misty visions of God
Turn the cities into families
Into villages of souls
Hovering in the air while they