How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.
by Derek Mahon
With many many thanks to Bjorn Paige who brought this poem to my attention.
I have broken my own rules with this Friday poem, as it has not come from one of my poetry books. In my defence, I will say that
1/ This is brilliant, and very right for these times, although written several years ago.
2/ I am reading a lot of poetry online at this present time…… :)