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Lay for the Day
9th November

The anniversary of the death of Dylan Thomas in New York City in 1953.
From the book of Praises.

78. Of Dylan Thomas

“Where are you going with your bag of bread
Proverbs and basket of biblical eggs,
When the one white stone of the sun has thrown
Its likeness on the mercy of cobbles
Barely, giving the day a new name?”

“With my bread baked of froth blown off pints
And eggs empty as headaches, to market,
Of course, to sell.” His round, unwell face bobbed
Like pickled evasive onions, then laughed
Unpromisingly as the wind struggling
Uphill against the light.

“And they buy there?”
“Because I’ve a stay-at-home gift they hope
One morning I’ll have brought to let them have,
Who, fools, can’t afford it, nor know by how far.”


John Gibbens
from Collected Poems


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