My Seasons

My Seasons

This is the weather the cuckoo likes, and so do I When showers betumble the chestnut spikes and nestlings fly And the little brown nightingale bills his best, And they sit outside at the Traveller’s Rest, And maids come forth sprig-muslin dressed, And citizens...
Twisted Religion

Twisted Religion

I have pretended long, in loyalty. I had a childhood hurt for five harsh years, I let it wound my good fragility And over decades I’ve shed many tears And sometimes wished that I were wholly free Of faith because it was to me all fears,   Unhappiness and,...
In his own dungeon

In his own dungeon

He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i’ the centre, and enjoy bright day, But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the midday sun; Himself his own dungeon.   John Milton (1608-74), Comus...