Whereby the horn of plenty is undone, my blueveined child, a wonder is born. My heart hangs in the elms above the flooded stream. Time’s wan wave. The hands that gave, frail and white as rose, the future years had come. Natural kindness and maybe a looking-glass, being made so beautiful in the dim light. The sea-wind screams upon the tower, once more the storm is howling. Half hidden behind the cradle, a stranger’s eye whose soul is sere, dancing to the frenzied drum. To find a friend again, standing in waiting upon the dark hill.
– Josh Fleming
Poems recycled: Words removed and reordered upon the page, taken from: A Prayer For My Daughter, by William Butler Yeats and A Flower Given To My Daughter, by James Joyce