Poem written on a white pillar in the forest Now through the forest springs a gale to waft the wandering and pale mist of midmorning. This soft kind does – out of deep mountain gorges – steal, brining green orgies to the neither blind nor sleeping leaves, who in the dark can see and drawning thus the fragrant sap aloft. So even the most aged branch can feel the vigor of the spring’s all virile tree with laughing, laughing rain and drunken wind. They then, as clouds across the senith sail; white clouds that do their pristine petals peel; or, like tall silver-masted ships of hail, these glass, translucent caracols will reel under the frozen weight of crystal, shattered soon by the magnetic influence of the moon. While, far below, beyond the blue wet pain rolls yet the drunken wind and gentle rain. where river waters coil and fall and gleam, white lilies sigh beside the wriggling stream.....
Posted on: Wed, 11 Sep 2013 15:57:23 +0000