Donations are essential to keep Write Out Loud going    

BENJAMIN BRITTEN

Benjamin Britten strode out

one crisp spring morning to a crowd of seagulls;

North Sea clouds parted

to let the sun through. 

 

This was his muse, his choir,

a thin gruel of music in his head

preparing for release. 

 

Harps and the voices of boys split infinity

over the shingle.

He worried about the cause,

the great horizon of gestation held tight

in an unaccepted menopause. 

◄ ROYAL DISAPPOINTMENT

BENJAMIN BRITTEN ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message