clangers

I will not lumber you with love,
nor climb on you to measure you for sins,
nor wipe you over with forgivenesses,
nor kick your shins,

I know your eyes do not see out of mine
nor are your tears the tears I shed
but I don't care.
For I will take your hand and make a place for you
because you're there.

Not for some complicated ploy
of pity, piety, or private greeds,
but for an older, simpler joy
that, nothing wanting, nothing needs,
except to live.

For, as I see you feel the rain and breathe the air,
so just to know the sun that shines on you
shines on me too
confirms the sunshine, makes it sure.

Tells us we live, are there,
that now will do and asks no more.

Oliver Postgate 1979