The lindens were embraced by millions
Of tiny lime-green worms, each fitted
With a stunning vermilion splotch for a head,
Wriggling so delightfully
And re-coloring the bark
Making the tree seem to tremble
With throbbing life,
Like a face holding back a sob--
When they reached the top the worms simply let go--
Dropping like rain upon the ground-leaves
Like a gentle rain in slow triple-time
Like the gentle patter of a gentle rain upon my notebook
And the jay traded his tawdry racket
For a smooth clarinet of gold resin.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment