19 APR 2021

21 APR 2020 · BLAKE’S WILD FLOWER Who knew, Within the silence That has fallen On the world, Such tapestries Of sound Would, Woven, Grow? Bird call, Footfall, And in The blossom blow - The distanced stranger’s Coy ‘Hello’. Who knew, Before the sky fell in, The world was filled With such bright colour? That Time and Space Elasticated, Like a mind on mescaline? Or that we would be given To see Such wonder, A world in a grain of sand, A heaven - In Blake’s wild flower? Infinity. Eternity. And how could These things be, Unless we also Stare into the face Of loss, Of grief, And see Our own Mortality. DAVID O’CONNELL