Gospel

 We are the children of light,

Wise, not companioned

By goats

In a condemned graveyard.


Backward blowing

Blizzards of memory

Flatten out

The genealogies.


But here a point,

The objective essence

We work in.

We shall not drink from the stink-pots.


Propaganda,

Gospel spread

With tin shovels,

We are this generation.

Patrick Kavanagh


Love



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