Patrick Kavanagh

Two Ways

I know the misery of towns
The hunger and the drouth,
Wise men on pavements built for clowns,
And poor forgotten Truth

A turnip-sculptor kneeling where
The heels of fashion fly - 
A ha'penny for a poet's prayer
In the glare of the Savoy.

O for country where the doors
Are hospitably wide,
Where clay is clean and parlour floors
Invite strong boots inside.

Where every arty fraud is jeered,
Where shines no movie star - 
The ancient fields where God is feared
And men are what they are.
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