Patrick Kavanagh

To Anna Quinn (2)


Over the kind brown earth we bend
And one with god are we
It is the October time - the end
Of passions jittery

The white bleached stalks
Are like the bones
Of long dead lovers
The lean-faced rocks
Unveiled in winds
Are Eternities dictators.


Once the Golden Book was open to me
And I read
The Answer to the Riddle
And I, an unschooled rustic
Was wise
As fool's laughter in an academy.

Two Ways

I know the misery of towns
The hunger and the drouth,
Wise men on pavements built for clowns,
And poor forgotten Truth

A turnip-sculptor kneeling where
The heels of fashion fly - 
A ha'penny for a poet's prayer
In the glare of the Savoy.
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