The wind tugged at his locks. A lone

Rose tore from off the tower wall.

He saw that in FORGIVENESS all

Redemption lay. His Parents’ stone

Their carved Names bore where ivy gnawed.

Then cried he, ‘Just to be forgiven

Or to forgive: both are to HEAVEN

The Key. I do forgive them, LORD’ –

His words shook like the riven tree –

‘Who never have forgiven me.’

‘The Storm’ from
A Summer Stroll Through Parts of Suffolk
William Westlake, 1801