Your Second Grace

With a stumble in the spotlight, the strange lad asks for his second grace.

The Willoughby gallery, spacious and bright,
With Victorian grace and a limelight view,
I sat upfront near the natural light,
Awaiting the songs I thought I knew.

Then came the tale of Annie Moore and Isle of Tears,
A lad in Bude with hope and courage at last,
From an Isle he’d never see again for years,
A stranger with no future in the past.

Of Joan you spoke, and her gift to heal,
He thought of Watford, and how he was used,
Now to help those who called, and free to feel,
In Cornwall's kindness and no longer abused.

"Like a Bee" flew to the colourful flower,
He pledged his heart to Bude musical society,
To help the artists with his newfound power,
Their love for him made his own love a reality.

Then "Bonnie Susie Cleland" rang out clear,
He thought of Scotland's winding stream,
The McManus galleries, buried so dear,
To visit there again would be a dream.

As the midnight moon was shining bright,
You called across the ocean blue,
To ask the Meandering River's track that night -
I said "Three" ... but the truth was "Two".