Twenty-Four Years by Dylan Thomas

Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey
By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun,
With my red veins full of money,
In the final direction of the elementary town
I advance as long as forever is.

by Dylan Thomas

Other poems by 'Dylan Thomas'

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Fern Hill

A Child's Christmas In Wales

A Refusal To Mourn The Death, By Fire, Of A Child In London

Poem In October

A Letter To My Aunt

Elegy

Clown In The Moon

Deaths And Entrances

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