RS Thomas poem
'Waiting' by R.S. Thomas
Yeats said that. Young
I delighted in it:
There was time enough.
Fingers burned, heart
seared, a bad taste
in the mouth, I read him
again, but without trust
any more. What counsel
has the pen's rhetoric
to impart? Break mirrors, stare
ghosts in the face, try
walking without crutches
at the grave's edge? Now,
in the small hours
of belief the one eloquence
to master is that
of the bowed head, the bent
knee, waiting, as at the end
of a hard winter
for one flower to open
on the mind's tree of thorns.
R S Thomas
(Welsh poet and priest)
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