And all the time I type indoors I hear
the burring of the wings of birds so near;
and when through open door I come to sit
so many sparrows flutter off and flit.
These revenants prospered and multiplied;
they thought to set a vigil by my side,
to call me if a cat should enter where
my presence would dispense with Felix. There!
Sun has resumed her tyranny. Finned, lobing,
dissolving and innocuous clouds, robing
nothing, are cast clothes, strewn on a hot bed
where sun makes cruel play, assent unsaid;
yet, as the evening wears, her love grows mild;
and where she sets, blesses she's despoiled.
....................................
Gong: I think I have the hang of this!
..
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
