Many of my favorite poems have been written by poets who I consider to be "neglected." There are various reasons for this neglect. Perhaps it has to do with literary "reputations" and (Heaven forbid) literary "criticism." (I am not an unremitting foe of literary criticism, but its role has been a trifle (!) inflated in recent times.) Whatever the reason for the neglect, it saddens me that wonderful poets and poems do not receive the attention they deserve. One of my goals is to share these poets and poems with you.
Andrew Young (1885-1971), who was born in Scotland, was first a Presbyterian minister and, later, an Anglican vicar. He wrote poetry throughout his long life.
A Dead Mole
That so much lived below the ground,
Dug, fought and loved, hunted and fed,
For you to raise a mound
Was as for us to make a hole;
What wonder now that being dead
Your body lies here stout and square
Buried within the blue vault of the air?