Sunday Night Poetry

The weekend has been lovely. The days have been idle and last night was spent with all of my favourite friends... drinking, dancing to a bad cover band and concocting art projects on the train home.
MMM, so tonight's a bit of a melancholic one because it's no longer last night and it's Monday tomorrow...

Here in this spring by Dylan Thomas.

Here in this spring, stars float along the void;
Here in this ornamental winter
Down pelts the naked weather;
This summer buries a spring bird.

Symbols are selected from the years'
Slow rounding of four seasons' coasts,
In autumn teach three seasons' fires
And four birds' notes.

I should tell summer from the trees, the worms
Tell, if at all, the winter's storms
Or the funeral of the sun;
I should learn spring by the cuckooing,
And the slug should teach me destruction.

A worm tells summer better than the clock,
The slug's a living calendar of days;
What shall it tell me if a timeless insect
Says the world wears away?

(Enjoy the start to the week. See you tomorrow. It will be a good week. Photos via tumblr.)