They see you as they see you, <br />A poor farmer with no name, <br />Ploughing cloudward, sowing the wind <br />With squalls of gulls at the day's end. <br />To me you are Prytherch, the man <br />Who more than all directed my slow <br />Charity where there was need. <br />There are two hungers, hunger for bread <br />And hunger of the uncouth soul <br />For the light's grace. I have seen both, <br />And chosen for an indulgent world's <br />Ear the story of one whose hands <br />Have bruised themselves on the locked doors <br />Of life; whose heart, fuller than mine <br />Of gulped tears, is the dark well <br />From which to draw, drop after drop, <br />The terrible poetry of his kind.<br /><br />Ronald Stuart Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dark-well/
