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Today is the centenary of the birth of the poet Dylan Thomas, born October 27, 1914.
It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.
You can read the rest of this poem HERE.
4 comments:
I can practically feel the wet sand under my feet.
Wow. Lovely.
Good luck Aunt Snow, although you have made your own through your hard work. franinoz
October is my hell month on the job. With apologies to Dylan Thomas:
Eyes are droopy,
Feeling poopy.
Get no sleep,
I won't weep.
One more weekend,
Then I'm free, friend.
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