Gedicht
Michael Hartnett
For my Grandmother, Bridget Halpin
For my Grandmother, Bridget Halpin
For my Grandmother, Bridget Halpin
Maybe morning lightens overthe coldest time in all the day,
but not for you. A bird’s hover,
seabird, blackbird, or bird of prey,
was rain, or death, or lost cattle.
The day’s warning, like red plovers
so etched and small the clouded sky,
was book to you, and true bible.
You died in utter loneliness,
your acres left to the childless.
You never saw the animals
of God, and the flower under
your feet; and the trees change a leaf;
and the red fur of a fox on
a quiet evening; and the long
birches falling down the hillside.
© 1967, The Estate of Michael Hartnett
From: Collected Poems
Publisher: The Gallery Press, Oldcastle
From: Collected Poems
Publisher: The Gallery Press, Oldcastle
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For my Grandmother, Bridget Halpin
Maybe morning lightens overthe coldest time in all the day,
but not for you. A bird’s hover,
seabird, blackbird, or bird of prey,
was rain, or death, or lost cattle.
The day’s warning, like red plovers
so etched and small the clouded sky,
was book to you, and true bible.
You died in utter loneliness,
your acres left to the childless.
You never saw the animals
of God, and the flower under
your feet; and the trees change a leaf;
and the red fur of a fox on
a quiet evening; and the long
birches falling down the hillside.
From: Collected Poems
For my Grandmother, Bridget Halpin
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