break of day
leafen wood enwintered
by a soft ice surplice
fallen forth on timbers
in a fronded fretwork charabanc
that neath a network braided
steaming cattle breathed
earthen kingdoms frothed
into dying into life
on with the motley
rejoice rejoice
by a soft ice surplice
fallen forth on timbers
in a fronded fretwork charabanc
that neath a network braided
steaming cattle breathed
earthen kingdoms frothed
into dying into life
on with the motley
rejoice rejoice
posted by heelers | 10:57 PM
1 Comments:
Beautiful poem. It evokes a late winter morning, but Spring has come early here. It's odd, because my hometown - just 187 miles north - had heavy snowfall last week but where I live now hasn't even had frost for three mornings.
Usually the only green thing this time of year is beer and the "Kiss Me I'm Irish" buttons sported by people with Polish and Italian last names. But this St. Patrick's Day was not just green, but the yellow and blue crocuses and violet, slender-limbed fleur-de-lis are throwing their colors into my winter-weary neighborhood.
I wanted to wish you a blessed St. Patrick's Day, but I lost track of time. I've had such strange work hours as of late (5 am-10 pm this week) that I feel slightly disconnected from the world. I prayed for you and yours at the Stations of the Cross last evening and hope you're well, James.
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