Patrick Kavanagh

I Walk Beside

I name the plain things
A book a barrow or a horse
The water from the common springs
When I would draw from a deeper source.

All time I walk beside
The mute self of song;
Always touching and always denied
The glory of being one.

When my mind embraces white
Thorn blossoms of virginity
I but proxy another's delight
In an uttered eternity.

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