Young Poet From Slane Poem by Bernard Kennedy

'through Meath the pastures' another muse points out the royal county,
It was your young place, Francis,
with words written
here in this place.
Fields of loves wanderings and meanderings,
the stream of the soul, wandering.
To the other fields where young olives bled, like Lorca.
Crushed olives, broken bread, another violence.

Laneways walked, His Lordships' library,
death the darnel of the wheatened fields of Meath.
Unheard bittern cry.
In the wild sky of fruitless violence.