Poetry: ‘Second Best’ by Robinson Jeffers
A hungry Gaelic chiefling in Ulster,
Whose blood with the Norseman's rotted in the rain on a heather hill:
These by the world's time were very recent
Forefathers of yours. And you are a maker of verses.
A hungry Gaelic chiefling in Ulster,
Whose blood with the Norseman's rotted in the rain on a heather hill:
These by the world's time were very recent
Forefathers of yours. And you are a maker of verses.