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Love Is Murder

Admit the sun into your high nest
Where the eagle is a strong bird
And where the light comes continuously
To find and then to strike;
Let the frost harden
And the shining rain
Drop onto your wings,
Bruising the tired feathers.

I build a fortress from a heap of flowers;
Wisdom is stored with the clove
And the head of the bright poppy.
I bury, I travel to find pride
In the age of Lady Frankincense
Lifting her smell over the city buildings.

Where is there greater love
For the muscular and the victorious
Than in the gull and the fierce eagle
Who do not break?

Take heed of strength!
It is a weapon that can turn back
From the well-made hand
Out of the air it strikes.

Poem by Dylan Thomas, Image by Gail Astbury

All pages copyright 1995-2018 Simon Whiteside