Ghazal in fear there might not be another to talk into fine white ash after another blooms. He dies from it over and over; Duncan has his own earth to walk through. Let us borrow it. Mary is Spanish and from her heart comes forth a pieta of withered leather, all bawling bulls. Stand in the wine of it, the clear cool gold of this morning and let your lips open now. The fish on the beach that the blackbirds eat smell from here as dead men might after war. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WYNKEN, BLYNKEN AND NOD by EUGENE FIELD A TRUE HYMN [HYMNE] by GEORGE HERBERT WITH AN ALBUM by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR EXHORTATION TO PRAYER by MARGARET MERCER IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 55 by ALFRED TENNYSON GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 7 by RICHARD BARNFIELD |