Standing on tiptoe

One day the Sun resolved
To pay a long-delayed visit
To the Moon
That grey, crusty, cold,
One-faced world

The Moon sensing
All was not as it had been
Slung its hook and dived
Under the Earth
In eclipsical shade

The Sun, knowing
In his innards that fear was at play,
Beamed, unconcerned,
Traversed the emptiness
Of Space and drew near

The Moon, half-afraid, half-intrigued,
Popped a crescent foot out,
Beyond the shadow,
And felt the warmth sink
Crater-bound, in, and in further

The Earth, meantime,
Alarmed at the thought of
Irreversible ocean evaporation
Made plans, and hid
Concealed beneath the clouds

Had Space not been so vacuous
The Moon and Earth would have
Heard the Sun crackle and pop
With laughing joy, chewing
On a delicious secret or two

Just when all was up
And elements should surely melt
An intriguing unprediction
Took place and, like climbing under
A heavy tog duvet on a cold night,

The Sun wrapped himself
In the Earth, like an old
Familiar t-shirt
And sat back feeling
Quite at home

The Sun, now clothed in the Earth
Bathed the Moon
In multicoloured lights
And the world became
An Inside-out wonder

The whole of creation
Standing on tiptoe had
Waited a long time for
The sons of God
To be revealed

Poem in honour of J B Philips, 20th Century Anglican bible translator