Hord The Burial Of The Dead
"April is the cruellest month Breeding lilacs out of the dead land Mixing memory and desire Stirring dull roots with spring rain
What are the roots that clutch what branches grow Son of man you cannot say or guess for you know Only a heap of broken images Where the sun beats And the dead tree Gives no shelter, the cricket no relief And the dry stone no sound of water
I could not speak, and my eyes failed I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing Looking into the heart of light, the silence"
