Sunday’s children in the church of San Giacomo
Giggle and crane,
But are distracted by the sound of the sound
Of their voices in the hymn.
In the Piazza of the Ghetto evening comes.
From the shop of earnest men
A murmur of quiet disputation.
Tag: poem
The Woolwich Ferry
Today, there was no threat of weather in the captain’s eye,
So, the sergeant ferry forded the harbour with shoulders back,
Sparkling through its secret easements of way,
Past a boy who was coiled like a languid worm
At the end of a jetty,
Dawdling his rod in the waters,
Playing patience with the sea;
And past the turtle-back dinghies
Stashed in their secret covies,
Towards the wharf at Woolwich.