Patrick Kavanagh


My fathers strung for me
No geneologic [sic] rosary
Beads of hypnotic truth.
And I must now by sheer
Intellect fear
The cul de sac, 
The worthless destiny that ends at Turn Back.

My fathers achieved
Only their own doom in the self-heaven.
By their dead sons only be they forgiven!

I must marshall evidence
Something is worth striving.
A poem is not a patterned ghost
In a wind-chariot driving.

Around me and around
A universe swings - 
I have believed in my heart
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