The white waves call
The crippled newborn forth out of the shell.
Born into a world ill-equipped
For life.
And on belly it crawls slowly
Towards the healing waters
To be reborn; take flight,
To feel young again.

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

The opening line of this poem comes from the Louis Macneice poem “Prayer Before Birth”. I’ve only just come across his work recently and now it seems like every other new poem I read is his.

“Young” is one of two poems I’ve written that have borrowed this line, neither of which ended up exactly as I planned. Perhaps the line just wanted to head back to where it began.


One thought on “Young

  1. Pingback: Christmas and a Ho, Ho, Ho | Made of sticks and stones

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