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    R. S. Thomas - Priest And Peasant


    by poetictouch

    R. S. Thomas - Priest And Peasant - Read by Richard Burton

    Priest And Peasant
    by R. S. Thomas (1913-2000)

    You are ill, Davies, ill in mind
    An old canker, to your kind
    Peculiar, has laid waste the brain's
    Potential richness in delight
    And beauty; and your body grows
    Awry like an old thorn for lack
    Of the soil's depth; and sickness there
    Uncurls slowly its small tongues
    Of fungus that shall, thickening, swell
    And choke you, while your few leaves
    Are green still.

    And so you work
    In the wet fields and suffer pain
    And loneliness as a tree takes
    The night's darkness, the day's rain
    While I watch you, and pray for you,
    And so increase my small store
    Of credit in the bank of God,
    Who sees you suffer and me pray
    And touches you with the sun's ray,
    That heals not, yet blinds my eyes
    And seals my lips as Job's were sealed
    Imperiously in the old days.