The Coming

And God held in His hand
A small globe. "Look", He said.
The Son looked. Far off,
As though through water, He saw
A scorched land of fierce
Color. The light burned
There, crusted buildings
Cast their shadows: a bright
Serpent, a river,
Uncoiled itself, radiant
With slime.
                      On a bare
Hill a bare tree saddened
The sky. And many people
Held out their thin arms
To it, as though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs. The Son watched
Them.
"Let Me go there," He said."

~R. S. Thomas