Finnigans Wake

Dazzled by the lightness of his language,
How his words danced like angels on the point of his needle.
He sewed them together in new ways,
Until they became almost other;other languages
Sing,
if you don’t know. Understanding come, with hearing
Attending,opening, your mind is a flower
on the Dingle; it dares to trust its heart to
Atlantic gales and bends low beneath them;
Yet rises too in the warm sun of his total gaze;
And enraptures the listener and the seer
Into another Eden,it’s possible,
with patience,to enter
Even to stay.
Water of life,carry me home to you at last
To the rocks and the flowers
and the dancing butterfly words
Of the Gael.

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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