Fly Leaves

This is a poetry book. For forty years from dawn to dark— Alone beside Caermarthen Bay. He felt the salt spray on his lips; Heard children's voices on the sands; Up the sun's path he saw the ships Sail on and on to other lands; And laughed aloud. Each sight and sound To him was joy too deep for tears; He sat him on the beach, and bound A blue bandanna round his ears: And thought how, posted near his door, His own green door on Camden Hill, Two bands at least, most likely more, Were mingling at their own sweet will Verdi with Vance. And at the thought He laughed again, and softly drew That Morning Herald that he'd bought Forth from his breast, and read it through.