No Sanctuary
It’s Hallowe’en. The turnip-man’s lopped head
Blazes at us through split bottle glass
And fumes and swims up like a wrecker’s lantern.
Death mask of harvest, mocker at All Souls
With scorching smells, red dog’s eyes in the night－
We ring and stare into unhallowed light.
From North, 1975
Many many moons ago, I sang a version of this with my school choir for the Feis Ceoil. I've only just now tracked down the original, so am sharing it here in case I foget it again!!!Table Of Contents - Poetry
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