Poetry is always slightly mysterious, and you wonder what is your relationship to it. Seamus Heaney Rite of Spring by Seamus Heaney So winter closed its fist And got it stuck in the pump. The plunger froze up a lump In its throat, ice founding itself Upon iron. The handle Paralysed at an angle. Then […]
Seamus Heaney. Enough said.
From 14 Lines, a fine poetry blog.