Poem by Dylan Thomas

Twenty-Four Years

Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey
By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun,
With my red veins full of money,
In the final direction of the elementary town
I advance as long as forever is.

1. If My Head Hurt a Hair's Foot
2. Here in This spring
3. On the Marriage of a Virgin
4. Into Her Lying Down Head
5. Unluckily for a Death

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