Henry Treece (22 December 1911 – 10 June 1966 / Wednesbury, Staffordshire)
Tears are Two Small
Tears are too small a sign of grief,
My love, oh my sweet love!
A child will cry himself to sleep
As though his golden heart would break,
And yet will laugh himself awake
To see the morning cony leap.
Grief is too great to break a heart,
My sweet, though pain is there;
Too great for anything but death,
Blank madness underneath great seas,
Christ screaming from a million trees,
You, stark beneath a burial-cloth.
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