The Great Hunger

Like children dreaming of bounty,
The stones, the dirt, even the dark leaves,
Have clutched their roots,
And the flowers exhale, ready to bloom
In the complete acceptance of what
Is a kind, beautiful rebirth.

One would breathe wide in fields,
Gorging upon the stars with the rain
That spills like honey.
So easy the light breaks,
When the air is checked by your breathing
And in the breathographic soft sighs,
You will ponder flowers all around
Happening.

Here is where the hunger sinks deep,
A rhythm that spreads from blades of grass,
Where they whisper softly
To our awkward wandering.
It swells to make you wonder:
Is this creation or release?
To know our being ever
Turns inside our own reflections.

• Louis MacNeice