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.