If you have the words, there's always a chance that you'll find the way. - Seamus Heaney

Then a powerful demon, a prowler through the dark,
nursed a hard grievance.

I want away to the house of death, to my father under the low, clay roof.

Now it’s high watermark
and floodtide in the heart
and time to go.
The sea-nymphs in the spray
will be the chorus now.
What’s left to say?

Suspect too much sweet-talk
but never close your mind.
It was a fortunate wind
that blew me here. I leave
half-ready to believe
that a crippled trust might walk

and the half-true rhyme is love.