from The Hospital, by Patrick Kavanagh

A year ago I fell in love with the functional ward
Of a chest hospital: square cubicles in a row,
Plain concrete, washbasins – an art lover’s woe,
Not counting how the fellow in the next bed snored.
But nothing whatever is by love debarred,
The common and banal her heat can know.
The corridor led to a stairway and below
Was the inexhaustible adventure of a gravelled yard.

(See here for full poem >>>)

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