There's a wind blowing
Cold through the corridors,
A ghost-wind,
The flapping of defeated wings,
A hell-fantasy
From meadows damned
To eternal April
And listening, listening
To the wind
I hear
The throat-rattle of dying men,
From whose ears oozes
Foamy blood,
Throttled in a brothel.
I see brightly
In the wind vacancies
Saint Thomas Aquinas
And
Poetry blossoms
Excitingly
As the first flower of truth.
March
Patrick Kavanagh
(1)
Poem topics: flower, poetry, truth, fantasy, hear, eternal, cold, ghost, throat, saint, april, april fools, wind, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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