Flood Poem by Gillian Clarke
Flood
When all's said, and done,
if civilisation drowns
the last colour to go
will be gold -
the light on a glass,
the prow of a gondola,
the name on a rosewood piano
as silence engulfs it.
And first to return
to a waterlogged world,
the rivers slipping out to sea,
the cities steaming,
will be gold,
one dip from Bellini's brush,
feathers of angels, Cinquecente nativities,
and all that follows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/22/2024 5:35:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
