The Thinking Poet

 

Castelnou & Cuckoo

We slipped away that Sunday

Before restraining bells could make us stay.

Everywhere extravagance of light and bestowed beatitudes.

This was Sancta Civitas,

A land beyond all latitudes,

Surely rainbow’s end.

And as we climbed the serpentine track

Suddenly we stopped, amazed

And gazed

At aeons of sun-baked earth,

The play of sun on red-tiled Castelnou,

On distant snow-tipped Canigou.

And then in the valley below, a cuckoo,

Like a seraph declaiming joy,

Telling us that this is all the heaven we shall know

This side of death,

Until a sweet reviving breath

Conjures all lasting joys.

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26.6.04

R.R.CRETCHLEY