Lisle Ryder Poet Free verse

Passing By

I was travelling. I still am, but 
once upon a time I was on my way through 
a particular place. It was north of Wantage 
that I stopped and stepped out 
of my car to survey a white 
				canyon.

They'd been cutting through the chalk, 
the power of human engineering on a grand scale, 
near the beginning of motorway evolution;  
making a straight way for mankind.
I wondered at all the remains of creatures 
living how many years ago? that made this dead chalk.  
Scattered around were broken flints. 
					This one 
drew my eye. A survivor, almost unscathed.  
Its curves record a once fluid form, speaking 
of the heat of creation, of powerful forces still at work 
destroying and re-creating, volcanoes, earthquakes, after shocks...  
How small the scratches of human engineering.

I picked it up and took it on my journey.  
Is it mine?  
		No, it's His: 
				Creator of me.  
		I refer to Him in wonder.  
Frail and intricate, I pass by and hold
		this particular survivor.
When my travelling's done and the traffic thunders on 
relentless and forgetful of the place, 
this flint will remain wherever, 
				still.

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