FIERCE TYGERS

 

FIERCE TYGERS

I lean my ladder against a pale mint  sky

And know that William Blake somehow

Is standing by

Still in a visionary stance

Among his angels

His bright glance

Alights on meadows Ive not seen

And charts the river thames for me

The legacy of misery the spent tears gold

Among the ghosts of what had been

And watercolours melt the sun

Jerusalem my heart is free

To seek your visage constantly

And find in Christ the lamb

Fierce tygers.

Though all our battles won’t be one

I praise the Rose that in him bloomed

I praise the pastoral, sober tune

I praise the angels in the trees

I praise his sorrow I praise his glee

And what the End shall ever be

William Blake with a simple reed

William Blake, in the vanishing point

Of the world still singing.

mary angela douglas 17 april 2024