ELEMENTAL Is the word the work Of someone who tills the blue field, Unearths its dark plenitude For the tight seed to release its thought Into the ferment of clay, Searching to earth the light And come to voice in a word of grain That can sing free in the breeze, Bathe in the yellow well of the sun, Avoid the attack of the bird, And endure the red cell of the oven Until memory leavens in the gift of bread? ~ John O'Donohue Excerpt From: "Conamara Blues: Poems" Scribd.
