'If my head hurt a hair's foot <br />Pack back the downed bone. If the unpricked ball of my breath <br />Bump on a spout let the bubbles jump out. <br />Sooner drop with the worm of the ropes round my throat <br />Than bully ill love in the clouted scene. <br /> <br />'All game phrases fit your ring of a cockfight: <br />I'll comb the snared woods with a glove on a lamp, <br />Peck, sprint, dance on fountains and duck time <br />Before I rush in a crouch the ghost with a hammer, air, <br />Strike light, and bloody a loud room. <br /> <br />'If my bunched, monkey coming is cruel <br />Rage me back to the making house. My hand unravel <br />When you sew the deep door. The bed is a cross place. <br />Bend, if my journey ache, direction like an arc or make <br />A limp and riderless shape to leap nine thinning months.' <br /> <br />'No. Not for Christ's dazzling bed <br />Or a nacreous sleep among soft particles and charms <br />My dear would I change my tears or your iron head. <br />Thrust, my daughter or son, to escape, there is none, none, none, <br />Nor when all ponderous heaven's host of waters breaks. <br /> <br />'Now to awake husked of gestures and my joy like a cave <br />To the anguish and carrion, to the infant forever unfree, <br />O my lost love bounced from a good home; <br />The grain that hurries this way from the rim of the grave <br />Has a voice and a house, and there and here you must couch and cry. <br /> <br />'Rest beyond choice in the dust-appointed grain, <br />At the breast stored with seas. No return <br />Through the waves of the fat streets nor the skeleton's thin ways. <br />The grave and my calm body are shut to your coming as stone, <br />And the endless beginning of prodigies suffers open.'<br /><br />Dylan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-my-head-hurt-a-hair-s-foot/
