Here the dead rise early

 

Here the dead rise early with the corn;

in breath of sheep sigh out their little lusts,

marry the grass and fall asleep again –

all in a magpie-hop, in the beat of a wing.

Eel-catchers, rum-smugglers,

mourning maids and long-lost lovers,

men who live righteous lives and die unknown.

Fishers of long-gone shoals, those ancient sailors,

mesmerised by the dead sea’s rattling –

Only stand still and silent. Hear their song.

 

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