And the Word became Flesh

What score could record the notes of my three score years and ten? What notes could tell the tale of a life lived in many ways? It would begin with

Beneath the quiet Doncaster sky, Where Woodlands’ winds move soft and slow, All Saints stands watch with patient eye, A steadfast friend through ebb and flow. Its stones recall the

I was angry that you were asleep on the boat, As the waves came crashing, I didn’t dare rouse you, But clung to the side, Eyes closed, rocked and tossed,