Sixty-six years and one day, dear poet, since you slipped into the good night
Forever leaving us to nestle in the tall, happy green-bladed fields of Fern Hill
Painting our minds violet with characters’ vivacious, innermost voices
In ”Under Milk Wood” which you never, yourself, tragically managed to record
Opening our eyes up to the joyous beauty of nature strewn all around us
As you lulled us with rhyming, rhythmic, lyrical lilts of chiming language
You had a gift so bright that it consumed you and “set fire to the stars”
Begging us, like you, to wring every last drop out of our lives
To rage against death to which you, ironically, sadly succumbed too soon
Your childlike soul evident in your words, reminding us of the wonder in everything
Manchild, raving drunk; yes but also a talent revered even within your lifetime
A voice of deep dramatic velvet tones which on every word the audience hung
Left for us to wallow in its emotive essence and its crystal startling imagery, still
No you didn't tread as gently in life as perhaps you ought
To you the silvered glints of old age; they never came; they failed to cage you
There's no denying your poetry prowess but as so often with genius, sanity was fraught
Dear ”son of the sea”, fine poet of Wales, you'll
forever rage in our hearts
And sing in our minds in starstrung poetic, hypnotic anthems of golden gilt verse
@ Debbie Razey 2019 - Violet Moon Poetry
