A month with Yeats #11

‘Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs


It’s like all the water
in the world has ended up here.
Last night the moon
was a twist of lemon,
but today the world is
rain heavy, and the dull
November smells of death
and dirt are a hand’s weight.

There are no druids here.
The sacred groves are bleak
and bare, cut down for roof beams,
or left empty, to fox or badger,

there is only rain
stalking the valley ahead of the wind,
and the sky sits heavy
only just above the treetops.


Day 11, andΒ Jane Doughertye offers us a mystical quote from the master himself.


9 thoughts on “A month with Yeats #11

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