All that I owe the fellows of the grave <br />And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates <br />Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood, <br />Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots. <br />O all I owe is all the flesh inherits, <br />My fathers' loves that pull upon my nerves, <br />My sisters tears that sing upon my head <br />My brothers' blood that salts my open wounds <br /> <br />Heir to the scalding veins that hold love's drop, <br />My fallen filled, that had the hint of death, <br />Heir to the telling senses that alone <br />Acquaint the flesh with a remembered itch, <br />I round this heritage as rounds the sun <br />His winy sky, and , as the candles moon, <br />Cast light upon my weather. I am heir <br />To women who have twisted their last smile, <br />To children who were suckled on a plague, <br />To young adorers dying on a kiss. <br />All such disease I doctor in my blood, <br />And all such love's a shrub sown in the breath. <br /> <br />Then look, my eyes, upon this bonehead fortune <br />And browse upon the postures of the dead; <br />All night and day I eye the ragged globe <br />Through periscopes rightsighted from the grave; <br />All night and day I wander in these same <br />Wax clothes that wax upon the ageing ribs; <br />All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet. <br />Then look, my heart, upon the scarlet trove, <br />And look, my grain, upon the falling wheat; <br />All night my fortune slumbers in its sheet.<br /><br />Dylan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/all-that-i-owe-the-fellows-of-the-grave/
