For Carey Harrison and Dylan Thomas
Out from under classless classes
The bearded sage, naked to the waist
in the Woodstock Times,
Beckons his flock.
Gone the last traces of Theban thought
His daughter distraught
In her coral dress,
Gone are the eyes blinded by sight
Long longed for pupils
Regard a plum.
Gone are the wounds of the kindly ones
His shoulders adorned
With new flesh,
Apollo’s silver sacred leaves
Tremble to see
His igneous step.