(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.