"Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow-thronged loft by the shadow of my hand.
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land,
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,Time held me green and dying
Though i sang in my chains like the sea."
Poem by Dylan Thomas "Fern Hill" in Collected Poems
Photo by Sandra Saldanha
