Sunday, 28 April 2013

Sunday Poem

Triste Lignum!—Horace 
Branches like a Bacchic dancer thrashed
Ever more furious and faster
Through the storm, then catastrophically crashed
Into my window, not the last disaster
But a mere mishap that may be mended.
No mere cataclysm ever ended 
The war of winds, the travail of the trees
As they changed from ghastly green to grubby brown
Till, secretly subverted by disease,
They trembled to their roots and tumbled down,
As I shall do, one long-awaited day
When whatever wind will carry me away.

From Reliquary and Other Poems by Daryl Hine (Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 2013)

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