Swaying under the moonlightI revel in the crisp airAs it whispers against my skinMy dance does not falterThe creatures of the forest slow their breathAnd for a moment the moon stops as wellmy soul being bared to the endless nightEach movement a memoryEach breath a pieceI give my self Wholly the forestThat I might find solice within this grove
I am drowningThe sea lapses over my headThe current pushes me further downMy legs beat and bate to no availThe icy water rushesIt conforms to my bodyIn the face of the endless seaI am naught but a grain of sandSoon my legs stopAs I succumb to the lashing darknessAs twilight eclipses my visionMy last thought is not of my loved onesBut what shall become of me at my midnight hour
I fearIt sometimes brings me to tearsI smileIt has been a whileI yellIt is a story I don't like to tellI greaveIt feels like it will never leaveI do these things because I'm aliveI feel because it's how I surviveBecause who would I beWhen I don't feel like meThe fear, happiness, depression and angerThis is the reason we endure
Consulting summer's clock,But half the hours remain.I ascertain it with a shock --I shall not look again.The second half of joyIs shorter than the first.The truth I do not dare to knowI muffle with a jest.
The frog half fearful jumps across the path,And little mouse that leaves its hole at eveNimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong,And grasshoppers in merry moods still wearThe short night weary with their fretting song.Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare,Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bankThe yellowhammer flutters in short fearsFrom off its nest hid in the grasses rank,And drops again when no more noise it hears.Thus nature's human link and endless thrall,Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.
The Winters are so short --I'm hardly justifiedIn sending all the Birds away --And moving into Pod --Myself -- for scarcely settled --The Phoebes have begun --And then -- it's time to strike my Tent --And open House -- again --It's mostly, interruptions --My Summer -- is despoiled --Because there was a Winter -- once --And al the Cattle -- starved --And so there was a Deluge --And swept the World away --But Ararat's a Legend -- now --And no one credits Noah --