(Died November 15.1945)
By Patrick Kavanagh.
You will have the road gate open, the front door ajar
The kettle boiling and a table set
By the window looking out at the sycamores -
And your loving heart lying in wait.
For me coming up among the poplar trees.
You'll know my breathing and my walk
And it will be a summer evening on those roads,
Lonely with leaves of thought.
We will be choked with the grief of things growing,
The silence of dark-green air
Life too rich - the nettles, docks and thistles
All answering the prodigal's prayer.
You will know I am coming though I send no word,
For you were lover who could tell
A man's thoughts - my thoughts - though I hid them -
Through you I knew Woman and did not fear her spell.
