The Bedraggled Boys - Tom Hirons
I get drunk on good whisky,
Stand beneath the star-filled sky
And sing my sorrows and delights.
I’m as scar-torn as anyone.
Without great grandeur of wounds,
Only in this explosion of mid-life
Do I regard those curses and gifts,
What animals live in my skin
And what Gods vie on
Dark and bright Horizons.
Christ, I weep now for the boy
And the young men I have been
Slow to see that the burning blaze
Of my shames were in truth
The beacon fires of my belonging,
I have hidden in caves,
Woven spells in the mist
In case I might be seen as myself.
Come home, you bedraggled boys.
The hearth of my heart is warm for you,
And the table is set with best of all I have.
In the mid-light of this late afternoon
I take one step after another
Towards the fires at which you serve.
Look. My arms are strong:
I will carry you close to my heart;
I will bring your baskets of sorrow
And all your youthful joys,
In the gathering twilight
Back to the islands of apple trees
On which I have made - at last - our home.
