This man, my father
|
Cradling Into
this world, this wordly, gentle, sighing the breeze | |
| Grown young
soft, eastern shore, your south end woes in |
baking bricks back broken search |
|
that courtship brief and irish rationed honey- ...
and when will I be seven? trawling
now by pontardawe take it, | |
quick!
avoid!
harsh lights glare down in |
hints
of disagreements shown to none |
|
Di-day septumbral
loss, rocked disbelief, Summer indian eventually
sad years on, Drop heavy sea
of mid glamorgan, now then, sea of swans, Log off rack,
ruined, ragged, ricket-forded wreck, Another ford, another home sighing
gently went the things you saw ... and what, and what
in peace pre-born,
in
memory of June 6, 2002. |