Tuesday, 31 October 2017

R S Thomas


Because his words were the
candlelight in their tears,
the people of his years,
hardened in their land,
bowed under his dark sky,
he under his question, why?
Why am I still waiting
for His answer?
What is my place
in this, their place?
Forever on his knees he asked
again, and again,
To which, I reply,
who else could? But

R S Thomas

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