Iceland
courtesy of the wonderful prose of ......W H Auden
Isn't it true however far we've wandered into our provinces of persecution,
where our regrets accuse,
we keep returning back to the common faith from which we've all dissented,
back to the hands, the feet, the faces?
Children are always there and take the hands, even when they are most terrified.
Those in love cannot make up their minds to go or stay.
Artist and doctor return most often.
Only the mad will never, never come back.
usual rules apply....
phone off the hook,
Bose headphones on,
volume up turned and eyes closed...
take it away Kathryn
