W. G. Hiraeth Poems

"There," you said, "Observe his back." Each muscle
Ripples, alive with the strain and the sharp pain
That pressures as we look. The arched back strung;
Wrung, his thighs, calves, feet, forcing against Earth. His stretched arms and hands, as fine as Adam's,
...

My knock and call went unanswered, so we
Walked 'round the small thatched cottage to the back.
Mistress Anne sat knitting in the garden:
In the costume of sixteen-twenty-one. She said: "I come from Step-nie and am glad
...