Thoughts On Dylan Thomas’ Grave

The weather could not have been better
It so suited the grass and the fields.

A simple cross, I had been told, was all it was
But if that were so why were there no others like it?
I said ‘hello’ and sat by the side and offered my thanks
For he was a portion of why I write these lines.

In my minds eye it seemed like a postcard picture-
Perfectly formed if you ignored the dull roar
Of the traffic that came rolling down the hill.
I instead focused on the colours-
The white and grey of the gravestones,
Green and yellow grass, black words in a special font
Spelling out his name and the date.

I took a stone. It was part red, part grey,
It stood out from the blank rocks that lay around.
I held it in my palms, passing it between them,
Then it departed to my pocket.
I hold it now, and close my eyes.
The postcard comes back.

©Charlie F. Kane

16/7/08

by Charlie F. Kane

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