Her tall figure graced the skyline <br />Of the ridge, slender in its fine <br />Afrikaans heritage, her head held downwards <br />Against the force of the wind, pushing forwards <br />Unable to unbend, her face taut, transfixed by the wind. <br /> <br />The rocky cliffs above St Nons bay, exhilerated her <br />Flinging her words away, across the angry water <br />Her empty mouth working silently, her hands clasping <br />The camera to her eye gently, sucking in her breath then gasping <br />Filling her lungs ravenously, filling the lens covetously. <br /> <br />Seagulls screeched and wheeled, the sainted well wept <br />Pilgrims kneeled, St David slept <br />His mothers empty womb a memory, drew in the curious and the sincere <br />Seekers of healing and history, who came to pray and to peer <br />Whilst she came to capture the glory, not of well or birthplace but Gods artistry. <br /> <br />His hand-painted sky, His hand-sculptured sea <br />Hung around her eye, as she wondered and wandered His gallery <br />Worshipping, the grey rocky coastline <br />Angry and forbidding, yet worshipping with heart skipping to the music of time <br />Awestruck and dancing, she bowed for Him who is the end and the beginning.<br /><br />Tim Caton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-came-to-capture-his-glory/
