Poetry by R. S. Thomas

August 27, 2017

 

 

The Other
There are nights that are so still
that I can hear the small owl
calling
far off and a fox barking
miles away. It is then that I lie
in the lean hours awake listening
to the swell born somewhere in
the Atlantic
rising and falling, rising and
falling
wave on wave on the long shore
by the village that is without
light
and companionless. And the
thought comes
of that other being who is
awake, too,
letting our prayers break on him,
not like this for a few hours,
but for days, years, for eternity.
R.S.Thomas.

 

In September on our Walkabout we will visit Bardsey Island on the Lleyn Peninsular at the end of the world. Pics by Llen Natur.

 

 

 

 

 

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