The second coming | Dannie Abse
The ground twitches and the noble head
(so often painted) breaks through the cracked crust,
hair first, then ivory forehead into the sunlit field;
the earth yields silently to the straining.
A blackbird flies away.
The eyes open suddenly
just above the grass, seeing corn. No man is near.
Sound of days of heat, of silence.
It is lonely to be born.
And now he's breathing--air not earth
who inhaled worms and death so long.
Still his body in darkness, lightward pushing.
Pause, rest, he is tired now, enough to delight
in looking. Is this true: the world all heaven,
head in corn, with pale butterflies
staggering over him?
He cannot rise further.
The earth is heavy on his shoulders.
Cry out, shout, oh help is near.
Dangerously, the machine passes scything corn,
but the driver does not hear, cannot hear
- and now that noble head is gone,
a liquid redness in the yellow
where the mouth had been.
Dig, I say dig, you'll
find arms, loins, white legs, to prove my story -
and one red poppy in the corn.
(so often painted) breaks through the cracked crust,
hair first, then ivory forehead into the sunlit field;
the earth yields silently to the straining.
A blackbird flies away.
The eyes open suddenly
just above the grass, seeing corn. No man is near.
Sound of days of heat, of silence.
It is lonely to be born.
And now he's breathing--air not earth
who inhaled worms and death so long.
Still his body in darkness, lightward pushing.
Pause, rest, he is tired now, enough to delight
in looking. Is this true: the world all heaven,
head in corn, with pale butterflies
staggering over him?
He cannot rise further.
The earth is heavy on his shoulders.
Cry out, shout, oh help is near.
Dangerously, the machine passes scything corn,
but the driver does not hear, cannot hear
- and now that noble head is gone,
a liquid redness in the yellow
where the mouth had been.
Dig, I say dig, you'll
find arms, loins, white legs, to prove my story -
and one red poppy in the corn.