The Host

Among the rocks, The earth is an emerald, By moss draped deep In cool shades of the sea, Turning slowly with the mists, So shades of wet drift, Over the bubbles rising high.

In fear of a fragile body, The soft walls beckon,
Bending to the day,
Where bodies lie,
Preserved in the blue vaults Of the old waterway, Dripped and wept with stillness, That of anger turns cold, Leaving the shell of life, To rest back in peace.

• T E Hulme