Twenty-Four Years

I guess now that I’m 30 this poem is getting a little less applicable for me, but I still think it’s great. So here it is again, the poem that Dylan Thomas wrote on his twenty fourth birthday. Enjoy.

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.

-Dylan Thomas

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