A Lark on Achill
(On reading of a young boy's suicide)
I go walking for a poem
Ears pricked. A skylark
Carrying his life in his throat
Swells the morning.
Up, up, flutter, flutter
Hear me, he sings
As he surges through
Blackest cloud
His wild notes persistent.
I think of the young boy
Who ends his life
Without knowing
Woe is earthbound
Heaven is
The lark's song.
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