‘O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies all night,
In the howling storm …’ (Blake)

Red sky at night / Shepherd’s delight
Red sky night and day / Shepherd’s blood runs cold
Cold heart / burning corn / Shepherd dead upon the morn
When the Writing’s on the wall, words to set the World to rights
no earthly use at all

Write still, love still
Write the eyes that cried for rain, water like a tongue-less bell
Write the love of hill and tree and the snows of yester-year
In its cockle-shell of flame help the sun lie down to die
Dig the rock and till the loam with the scorched quill of the bone
Write till a’ the seas gang dry
Write still

Write still, love still
Ring Love’s bright knell / Pen Earth’s parched cry
Melt the loins of rocks and stones
Shelter from the fire with fire
When all the world is piles of dust and all the rivers sink
prepare thy ship of metaphor to sail across the burning sands
on thy paper lyre of ink
Write till the birds drop from the sky
Write still

Write still, love still
Tend the drying eyes of sorrow with the spectre of the rose
Cast thy voice upon the pyre of the Earth’s lost loveliness
In Death’s birthing-place expire / World’s own slowly dying breath
Lose again, again, again
Love’s brief diamond made of air / Heart’s warm fold of fleeting joy
Write till, write yet
Write the precious lie of shadow
Write till a’ the seas gang dry