G. Grant Poems

Does the child shrill inside,
When you say "kill".
"My Proto babe" Unborn, To sing, live love
As He bid, As He did?
...

Will the child I might lose, in the profoundest
time I pass, In hope
Still adorn His highest Kingdom? Bless?
Watch men, down here pass by
...

Is it in Ogham set, that love did not spell
Bethluision or fearn, Bobelith?
In birch hazel oak, before the Vine, or Ancient
firelight bid?
...