Holy Thursday (Experience)

Is this a holy thing to see.
In a rich and fruitful land.
Babes reduced to misery.
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine.
And their fields are bleak & bare.
And their ways are fill'd with thorns
It is eternal winter there.

For where-e'er the sun does shine.
And where-e'er the rain does fall:
Babe can never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.

by William Blake

Comments (8)

Anything and everything! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Supercilious to flying saucer Amazed and amused by yr poetic charm. This poem is far the best of your poems. Marvelous! With the traits of an invisible man We walked the lanes of each city: however great or small Surrounding not just our Universe; yet all other galaxy On our magic mats Drove us to soulful amusement!
Very nice imagery created here. Lovely Queeny Gona.
Good write............vivid imagination..keep writing.
I appreciate you for your flawless English, flutter of imagination and the beauty of rendering. Reading this poem was a beautiful experience Miss Gona.
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