From my desk I can see the Methodist Church

opposite, built during the first quarter

of the last century entirely by subscription,

with its decorative buttresses, Welsh slate roof

and faux Romanesque leaded windows.

If the doors are open and the wind is right

I can hear opening chords on the organ

and ‘How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me.’

I watch the congregation age and the hearse

draw up – modest folk, worthily dressed,

not averse to jumble sales and laughter.

When the sky is cloudless and the sun is setting

over Liverpool Bay the rays shine through

one set of windows, the body of the church,

another set and illuminate

me – for half a minute – ‘…but now am found,

was blind, but now I see.’