Patrick Kavanagh


I follow her whose fingers clasp the crust
Of the living bread stealthily behind
Tense to seize a crumb from the spendthrift wind.

When mouths miss
All bread is blown to star, a gold dust
In the eyes of carnal day. The Ideal,
In which sign kneels Piety.

I follow patient in purpose. I'll not wait
With the frustrated who put on pride.
Poor recompense
For fullness is an angel mummified!

I'll not say with the defeated: - 
Lord, I  have denied life - 
If life should deny me.
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