On a high rock

On a high rock under a lonely sky,
Where pink waves crashed and wild birds flying high
Called down to the Tockles, ‘We see you, so free!
Sitting and smiling beside the splashed sea -
Let us come down and rest in the lee
Of your firm little bodies and talk seriously!’
Sat the Grocklemebob, a bit of a blob,
Flouncy and bouncy, not up to the job
Of watching and waiting for lonely folks souls
As they travelled, determined, in bath tubs and bowls,
Making the best of their last long journey
As they sailed towards heaven across the strawberry sea:
And the Grocklemebob, desperately lonely,
Not up to the job, sipping mint tea,
Cried in its cup, ‘God bless my eyes!
I’ve sat in this spot, under these skies,
Counting the birds, counting my toes,
Watching the Tockles, fearing ‘God-Only-Knows’
That whisper and hisper and cuddle their claws,
Deep in the sea-trap, opening their maws -
Oh my God!’ cried the Grock, ‘I wish I could see,
The purpose of life, the purpose of Me!’
And collapsing in sorrow and mopping its brow,
The Grock let out an unruly howl,
Beating its head against a wee wall
It had built once a time so that it wouldn’t fall in the sea -

Which it did.

And rolling and bloating it spun with the tide,
As the ‘God-Only-Knows’ hoped it had died,
Until washed up and tired it hit the sea-shore,
Bounced out again then returned the once more,
And staggering, swaggering, unhappily,
It climbed back on its rock and had some more tea,
Shouting, ‘Is this all my life’s meant to mean to me?
Haven’t you pity on a Grocklemebob
That sits here quite placidly, doing its job?’
And breaking down in despair
The Grock combed back its brick-yellow hair,
Preparing to leap in the grandiose style
From its rock
With the most tragic smile -
But it stopped.

For it heard in the distance, ever so faint,
A tinkle or two, ever so quaint,
And the Grocklemelob, a bit of a blob,
Flouncy and bouncy, not up to the job,
Waved its hand high and shouted a word,
Beckoning two souls that it saw to observe
It doing its job (quite absurd!) -
It stopped, held itself high,
Wiped a tear from each weeping eye,
Stood thoughtful, looked up, exhaled a great sigh,
Put finger to nose and said, ‘By the by -
My duty’s quite plain, bit of a pain, hoping to change it, try a new game’,
And pointing a hand so they’d understand the Grock told them – ‘To be off!’

A discreet little cough, it flollopped about, tried to look tough,
But they had headed away, unwilling to stay,
And the Grock with a sigh looked up at the sky
And resumed its long days with a sad little cry,
Bemoaning its fate with a watery eye,
Convinced it would stay there ’till the day it did die:

Which it did.

And the times it had spent were just a lament
Where it whispered and sighed about dreams that had died -
But nobody cared, and the years it had shared
With the skies and the seas became memories
It took to its grave in the loneliest of ways,
Saddened and slow, unwilling to go -
And no one was there when it cast off all care
And left nothing behind in the land of the blind,
And the grief that was shown was less than a moan
By the wind as it shook with a casual look
All those stones it had placed in the sweetest of ways
As a reminder to some of the things it had done:

And where it is now, and the why and the how
Of the life that it led can never be said,
For nobody knows where the wind blows,
Or why the seas and the sands go hand in hand,
And nobody cares if another soul shares
Its dust with the skies, or whether it lies
In water, on land, we must understand
In the final demand we’re alone.

And our lives once begun flit under the sun
As our days in a haze slip neatly all ways,
And what’s there to say?

We none of us stay.

Let us pray.

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