The Heavens At The Summit… Poem by Mark Heathcote

Rest your weary wings upon the air
let the wind of love carry you here
carry you there - as long as it,
submits to roost with me my, tit.

Let god's love give all else wings
Egrets on the peak of a mountain:
they'll not-be-seen in their couplings,
by those, he calls his brethren.

"Let the wind gather the last prophet."
We'll-make-our nests our pallet
amongst; the heavens at the summit
in this love, we'll simply-plummet.