Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.”  I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”

Christ Church, St. Simons, Ga.


The peace of Christchurch, the old oak

Beneath whose branches Wesley spoke;

The Spanish Moss, like wisps of smoke.

Here once flew the Union Jack;

The Redcoats kept the Spaniard back.

Now glass protects the artifact.

Beneath the sun, Frederica Town:

The tabby walls have all come down—

Foundations gaping in the ground.

“Foundations gaping in the ground . . .”

The walls are tall, without a breach

In children’s castles on the beach,

But all within the high tide’s reach.

The sound of surf, the seagull’s cry,

The crab that passes sideways by,

And endless question asking why.

The tracks that grass makes in the sand,

A seashell nestled in the hand,

The endless quest to understand.

The circling sea, gray-green in hue,

White sails against a sky of blue;

The Good, the Beautiful, the True.

“The Spanish Moss, like wisps of smoke . . .”

Remember: for more poetry like this, go to and order Stars Through the Clouds! Also look for Inklings of Reality and Reflections from Plato’s Cave, Williams’ newest books from Lantern Hollow Press: Evangelical essays in pursuit of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty.  And look for Williams’ very latest book, Deeper Magic: The Theology behind the Writings of C. S. Lewis, from Square Halo Books!

Donald T. Williams, PhD


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