The Heron-Priested Shore - for Dylan Thomas

[Cas Greenfield]

The Heron-Priested Shore by Casimir Greenfield


Eighteen shots ring out across the estuary dawn
The white horse runs unbridled ‘cross the sands
The devil fills the night with his moonshine breath
And your precious time runs quickly through the fingers of his hands
Now you’re barefoot in the park
Hiding in the shadows and the doorways
Now you’re helpless in the dark
Lost between the devil and the highway


Take me home to the straggling river
Where the curlews call and the reed beds shiver
As bitter cold as a New York whore
Abandon me
To my destiny
On that heron-priested shore

Send me some token, that my hope may live,
Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;
Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,
That in my passions I may hope the best.
Send me nor this, send me nor that, to ever increase my store,
But swear thou think'st 'I love thee,' and no more. 
(From The Token by John Donne)

Take me home to the straggling river
Where the oysters sprawl in the salt-bed’s shimmer
As bitter cold as a New York whore
Abandon me
To my destiny
On that heron-priested shore


Eighteen shots ring out across the estuary dawn
The white horse runs unbridled ‘cross the sands
The devil deals the deck with a hand of death
To the funeral march of a Chapel band
Now you’re barefoot in the park
Hiding in the shadows and the doorways
Now you’re helpless in the dark
Lost between the devil and the highway

Take me home to the straggling river
Where the redshanks trawl as the seasons wither
As bitter cold as a New York whore
Abandon me
To Eternity
On that heron-priested shore