By bent grasses
in a gentle wind
Under straight mast
I’m alone tonight,
And the stars hang
above the broad plain
But moon’s afloat
in this Great River:
Oh, where’s my name
among the poets?
Official rank?
“Retired for ill-health.”
Drifting, drifting,
what am I more than
A single gull
between sky and earth?
No comments:
Post a Comment