BLOODY CLOD - FERTILE SOIL

Soft is the soil
In the burning evening light,
The passion of demented fathers
Tortures us to the last straw.
Thank you.

They gave us the eyes
For drunkenness to flow in,
They gave us the hands
The sinful fruits of darkness.
Thank you.

We love the soil achingly
As they loved it
We could fall from it - dead
We are kissing their gray heads,
They gave us fertility.
Bloody clod - fertile soil.
Bloody clod fertile soil.

London, 1985