Patrick Kavanagh

The Monk (1)

Winter encloses me,
I am fenced
The light the laugh the dance

I am like a monk
In a grey cell
Copying out my soul's
Queer miracle

What goes on out there
In the light
Is less than [] blue-bottle's flirtation
Yet, spite
I would be a blue-bottle
Or a house-fly
And let the monk the []
In cobwebs lie.
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