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. Foster the Light
2. We Lying by Seasand
3. On No Work of Words
4. Over Sir John's Hill
5. On a Wedding Anniversary

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