What joy it is of happenstance:
An unforced sum has come,
And so it was one hundred years,
Since last this date was loved,
And so it be one hundred years,
Till it shall come in sum.

Tugging at my stream of thought,
Pushing pulling tusseling,
Impotent as to stretch my reason,
Sideways into contoured rigour,
I so thought but slowly slipping,
Mental tracks align with time.

Internalising words of praise,
From a king of old,
A mighty man who chased,
The very heart of God I know,
And I will say to my Lord:
You are my Lord, I have no good apart from you.