I wonder about the
trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of
these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling
place?
We suffer them by the
day
Till we lose all measure of
pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening
air.
They are that that talks of
going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for
knowing,
As it grows wiser and
older,
That now it means to
stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my
shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees
sway,
From the window or the
door.
I shall set forth for
somewhere,
I shall make the reckless
choice
Some day when they are in
voice
And tossing so as to
scare
The white clouds over them
on.
I shall have less to
say,
But I shall be
gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment