Patrick Kavanagh


The worn horse on which I ride
Is language vitiate
That cannot take in its stride
Bank, stream or gate,
A Victorian gelding which
Ambled o'er daisied meads,
But now limps and has the itch,
As [seer] who reads
This verse.
I need a new horse,
My Pegasus is weary of the electrified tim[e]
The skeleton needs a deep cover in the purifying lime - 
The quick-lime of bitter brave silence
And no violence
For the sake of rhyme.
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