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John Drinkwater

John Drinkwater

On Reading Francis Ledwidge's Last Songs

At April’s end, when blossoms break
To birth upon my apple-tree,
 
I know the certain year will take
Full harvest of this infancy.
 
At April’s end, when comes the dear
Occasion of your valley tune,
 
I know your beauty’s arc is here,
A little ghostly morning moon.
 
Yet are these fosterlings of rhyme
 
As fortunately born to spend
Happy conspiracies with time
As apple flowers at April’s end.

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Ed Pedraza Robles
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Habitation

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Sweet in the rushes The reed-singers make A music that hushes The life of the lake; The leaves are dumb,



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