Dawn. The robin
crumbles his song
into a few pieces
for our Communion.
And humbly we accept;
we need the sacrament
of the Real Presence
if we are to continue
to believe. Pure
spirit is a refraction
only. It is the rainbow
in life’s spray that,
when we put our starved hand
into, lets our hand through.
.
But this wafer of song
we touch with the tip
of our belief, is it not
the pearl without price
we were told of and
have come upon that
we must give up all
our payments on a hire-purchase
happiness to make our own?
.
.
By R. S. Thomas
from Unpublished Poems
Rambling At The Bridge Head 