Dear parents,
I forgive you my life,
Begotten in a drab town,
The intention was good;
Passing the street now,
I see still the remains of sunlight.
 
It was not the bone buckled;
You gave me enough food
To renew myself.
It was the mind’s weight
Kept me bent, as I grew tall.
 
It was not your fault.
What should have gone on,
Arrow aimed from a tried bow
At a tried target, has turned back,
Wounding itself
With questions you had not asked.

  • 0
  • 0
  •  
  •  
S'identifier Commentaires...
Email

Autres oeuvres par R. S. Thomas...

Quelques poètes qui suivent R. S. Thomas...

Patricia May Neiderer Teddy Robson Lelue Franz R. L. McCallum Debbie Findlay