We live in our own world,
A world that is too small
For you to stoop and enter
Even on hands and knees,
The adult subterfuge.
And though you probe and pry
With analytic eye,
And eavesdrop all our talk
With an amused look,
You cannot find the centre
Where we dance, where we play,
Where life is still asleep
Under the closed flower,
Under the smooth shell
Of eggs in the cupped nest
That mock the faded blue
Of your remoter heaven.
– R. S. Thomas
[Image: Pat Scala/SMH]
Jason, I have written a book on the relationship between James K Baxter and John Paisley. David Wansbrough
Sent on the go with Vodafone
LikeLike
That sounds wonderful, David. I’ve love to read it. Who published it?
LikeLike