Brilliant Imagination
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell,
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy comforters will be,
Rewording in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth
And die a pearly brotherhood
W.B. Yeats
...... Male
as I am, my place, perhaps,
is to sit down in a mysterious
presence, leaving the vocabularies
to toil, the machine to eviscerate
its resources; learning we are here
not necessarily to read on,
but to explore with blind
fingers the word in the cold,
until the snow turns to feathers
and somewhere far down we come
upon warmth and a heart beating.
R.S. Thomas
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