Hunger was lonliness, betrayed
By the pitiless candour of the stars’
Talk, in an old byre he prayed
Not for food; to pray was to know
Waking from a dark dream to find
The white loaf on the white snow;
Not for warmth, warmth brought the rain’s
Blurring of the essential point
Of ice probing his raw pain.
He prayed for love, love that would share
His rags’ secret; rising he broke
Like sun crumbling the gold air
The live bread for the starved folk.
by R. S. Thomas
from Poetry For Supper (1958)
Rambling At The Bridge Head 
Diolch, thank you for this. Unfortunately there’s a mistake in the second line, it should read ‘candour’ rather than ‘candour’.
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Thank you for supporting the site Michael and for noticing the typing mistake. I have corrected it now.
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