Dear birthday boy,

Since you don’t get a party (yet), you get a  poem.
Double disappointment? It’s a little creepy, and the age is wrong.

Poem in October

It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.
My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name

(more at the original source,

One thought on “Dear birthday boy,

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