Spit a million brilliant white stars into the skySmile like a reptile feeding off a thousand cricketsDance with the birds and planes until you begin to flyDo not explore a funfair when you have all the ticketsSunsets are pretty but sad when the darkness masksA stunning settlement to why wolves kill at nightOpen your eyes to shine light upon the uncompleted tasksThe wolves will flee as your beauty summons a spriteGaze beyond the flourishing stars you spat outGrow a third eye in the middle of your mindThe tears down your cheek are going to sproutAlign the winds to a breeze where you can unwindAllow your eyes to turn into ancient artifactsSee the sensational space around you in different shapes
I walk these cold streets,through the fuses of light,they glow on the concrete,and kindle the night.The rain on my glasses,turn the tips into stars,though a sudden hollowing vision,of those rusty brown bars.My father imprisoned,my mother a grey stone.I walk these cold streets,I walk them alone.
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 --