broad sheet

"I'll come walking the hills with you in flesh and ghosts, surelly I will."
- From his last letter to me.

Now his sweet singing spirit leave the orange grove:
The blood-hibiscus and dust wheeling suns
Burn through tranced leaves above earth-resting body
Of Alun, son of the grey valleys
By whose hearths' ash, we weep him
In his own land.

Slowly returning on salt tidal tears
The homing spirit smiles through springtime shower;
Throws war's dust from him
In the barren lake;
Becomes complete.
The dreaming poet,
Lover and soldier
On rock begins promised pilgrimage,
For he said, surely he would come again
In flesh or ghost, beside me on the hill.

For Alun Lewis - Brenda Chamberlain (1912-1971)

On Martin Tinney Gallery