In Memoriam
Dylan Thomas, Fern Hill
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
Curator's Corner
This week's newsletter pays tribute to my father, Gordon M Shepherd, who died peacefully on 9 June 2022 and whose love of poetry inspired me to create LitHits. He knew a wealth of poems by heart and relished reciting them. This one always choked him up, as it does me.
--Kirsten Shepherd-Barr
About LitHits
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