29 de Junho - A Ver se Resulta...

A Charm Against a Toothache

Venerable Mother Toothache
Climb down from the white battlements
Stop twisting in your yellow fingers
The fourfold rope of nerves;
And tomorrow I will give you a tot of wisky
To hold in your cupped hands
A garland of anise-flowers
And three cloves like nails

And tell the attendant gnomes
It is time to knock off now
To shoulder their little pick-axes
Their cold-chisels and drills
And you may mount by a silver ladder
Into the sky to grind
In the cracked polished mortar
Of the hollow moon

By the lapse of warm waters
And the poppies nodding like red coals
The paths on the granite mountains
And the plantation of my dreams

John Heath Stubbs

Ilustre Blog Convidado da Semana