Charles Causley

When to the music of Byrd or Tallis,
The ruffed boys singing in the blackened stalls,
The candles lighting the small bones on their faces,
The Tudors stiff in marble on the walls

On a starless night and
Underneath a sleeping
Comes the cry of sheep and
From the slaughter house to mine

Who's that knocking on the window,
Who's that standing at the door,
What are all those
Laying on the kitchen floor

Mary stood in the
Baking a loaf of bread
An angel flew in the window‘We’ve a job for you,’ he said
‘God in his big gold

From a Normandy crucifix of 1632I am the great sun, but you do not see me, I am your husband, but you turn away
I am the captive, but you do not free me, I am the captain but you will not obey
I am the truth, but you will not believe me,...

Your royal
Is made of
In a cattle-shed
Sleep,

The first enters wearing the neon
Of virtue
Ceaselessly firing all-purpose
At everyone

I saw a jolly
With a jolly
Walking in the
In the jolly sun

Timothy Winters comes to
With eyes as wide as a football pool,
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters:
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters