by WC1 » Fri Aug 30, 2013 4:43 pm
"Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.
The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.
They buried us without shroud or coffin
And in August... the barley grew up out of our grave."
Proudly Irish, he once objected strongly to his poems being included in an anthology of British verse. "My passport's green," he said. One of the truly great. Poets are the conscience of their times, and God knows we need them more than ever today.
WC1