Holding in clear handsThe world’s true lightShe lifts its perfect flameAgainst the night. About its pulse of fireEarth and seas run,Season and moon and star,The unruly sun. Upon the hill a scuffedThinness of snow,First of green thorn, a streamStopped in its flow. She keeps within her handThe careful dayNow the slow wound of nightHas bledContinue reading “Mother and Child by Charles Causley”
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