| Dancing Dust |
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| Poems by Mollie Caird (1922-2000) |
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| Martha's song |
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Dull, crawling larva, earth-bound On ragwort, nettle, weed, His caterpillar round Of life to creep and feed, Dies when he’s sated, and, self-twined, Weaves the grave-clothes of his chrysalis And here in this Tight, dark blind Impenetrable subterranean shroud Lies winter-long until the April thrush From every tree and house-top shouts aloud. Now splits the winding-sheet, and there breaks out Not horror, worm, decay, But a new creature. Small splendid joy, come, flout Despair; dance unimaginable things; Come, flitting glory, thus Embody the Word. Perch on my finger, little Lazarus, While your bright wings Talk of the Lord. Oxford Times, 12 April 1963 The Dancing Dust and other poems, 1983 |