A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes.

There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens. 

Added: May 2 2005 | Viewed: 821 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Seamus Heaney
Poem: Song

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