Tony Grist (poliphilo) wrote,
Tony Grist




The others are drinking

Or snug with their childer;

I hear their babble,

The gull shriek of girls.

That story of Babel,

It bothers me sometimes.

Have we built too high

Will God strike us with fire?

But the moon seems no closer

When viewed from this tower.

God’s in no danger.

Between us and heaven

There’s miles and miles.

Here are my tools

There’s stone that needs smoothing;

I could do it by lamplight.

That’s not why I’m here.

My wife and my childer

Are all in the churchyard.

A solitary man

Might as well spend his evening

Sat on this cliff

Looking out at the sky

And down to the flight

Of the bats and the owls

And consider just how

The wings should be curved

And the feathers lie

Of this angel he’s carving.

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