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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=368081" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Pentecost</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=368081" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Better a jungle in the head<br>than rootless concrete.<br>Better to stand bewildered<br>by the fireflies' crooked street;</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=368081" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">winter lamps do not show<br>where the sidewalk is lost,<br>nor can these tongues of snow<br>speak for the Holy Ghost;</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=368081" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">the self-increasing silence <br>of words dropped from a roof<br>points along iron railings,<br>direction, in not proof.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=368081" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But best is this night surf<br>with slow scriptures of sand,<br>that sends, not quite a seraph,<br>but a late cormorant,</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=368081" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">whose fading cry propels<br>through phosphorescent shoal<br>what, in my childhood gospels,<br>used to be called the Soul.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Derek+Walcott">Derek Walcott</a></strong></div>

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