Colorless green ideas

Poem for a dawn I missed by rising late

Wren, when will
that cricket stop
its racket in
your throat?

Cricket, how could you
play second fiddle
all night to
the katydids?

And you lot, with
your gossip about
poor Kate, who did
both less & more
than you
can know –

be still now.
Turn into a leaf,
a sail, a rudder.
Sleep furiously
for every hour
without love.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.