Home Acre

Is this your home-acre

Dark beauty of mine,

Cold winds and rash words

And long hurts and harsh wine,

Caught fast in disasters

That seldom relent,

Am I your un-maker

My sweet discontent?

 

Is this your home-acre

This bleak, loveless tor,

Where promises are lost in

The dreams on your shore,

Where all that you hoped for

And wished for your own

Was left in harsh soil with

The seeds that I’d sown?

 

David Lewis Paget