We tell the story every year—
how we peered from the windows, shades drawn—
though nothing really happened,
the charred grass now green again.
We peered from the windows, shades drawn,
at the cross trussed like a Christmas tree,
the charred grass still green. Then
we darkened our rooms, lit the hurricane lamps.
At the cross trussed like a Christmas tree,
a few men gathered, white as angels in their gowns.
......
I remember what my father told me:
There is an age when you are most yourself.
He was just past fifty then,
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
There is an age when you are most yourself.
I know more than I did once.
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
Only a single leaf had turned so far.
......
The hour has come at last when, trembling to and fro,
Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
The scent and sounds all swirl in evening’s gentle fume;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!
Each flower is a censer sifting its perfume;
A violin’s vibrato wounds the heart of woe;
A melancholy waltz, a languid vertigo!
The sky, a lofty altar, lovely in the gloom,
......
Golden stars tell the story, of still, night's glory,
Twinkling and flashing, in the hours of dreams,
Long after the dazzling sunset, a black cherry,
Full moon's lovely as it's pouring, satiny cream.
Twinkling and flashing, in the hours of dreams,
And filling the night with a kind of black magic,
Full moon's lovely as it's pouring, satiny cream.
The smooth lakes and soft moon flowers gleam.
......
Sleep, she will not linger:
She turns her moon-cold shoulder.
With no ring on her finger,
You cannot hope to hold her.
She turns her moon-cold shoulder
And tosses off the cover.
You cannot hope to hold her:
She has another lover.
......
Where've I been in time? Seems I've passed this way before.
I remember you. Do you remember me? Life can be strange;
Like entering the same old spaces, only using different doors!
But, meeting prior isn't possible, unless time was rearranged.
I remember you. Do you remember me? Life can be strange!
Both mysterious and perplexing, what my heart is telling me;
But, meeting prior isn't possible, unless time was rearranged,
Offering on the spur of a moment, a seeming double destiny.
......
Red robin has long been singing, amidst a forest green spring,
In the burnt apricot days of sun, of teal skies fresh and clear,
Warbling to a blooming world unseen, hues coming and going.
Then red butterflies appear, like pale moon in plum mists sheer.
In the burnt apricot days of sun, of teal skies fresh and clear,
Satiny voiced red robin sings, while grazing the cream clouds.
Then red butterflies appear, like pale moon in plum mists sheer;
And all of nature's lovely crowds, are wrapt in dusky shrouds.
......
Golden stars tell the story, of still, night's glory,
Twinkling and flashing, in the hours of dreams,
Long after the dazzling sunset, a black cherry,
Full moon's lovely as it's pouring, satiny cream.
Twinkling and flashing, in the hours of dreams,
And filling the night with a kind of black magic,
Full moon's lovely as it's pouring, satiny cream.
The smooth lakes and soft moon flowers gleam.
......
In the midst of red evening, leaves fall from the sky,
Yielding lavish hues and vibrancy, to gathering dusk.
Under a pearl moon, twirling leaves wave goodbye,
To warmer, brighter, gold days, in the pale stardust.
Yielding lavish hues and vibrancy, to gathering dusk,
Pretty, migratory birds, are taking the longest flight,
To warmer, brighter, gold days, in the pale stardust,
And final blooms of the season, add a cool goodnight.
......
The beautiful, refreshing storm's just now ended,
And the gleaming sun peeks at strawberry fields,
Redbuds dance for joy, for the rain is suspended,
And exquisite birdsong follows the watery ordeal.
And the gleaming sun peeks at strawberry fields,
The zesty lemon clouds have begun their drifting,
And exquisite birdsong follows the watery ordeal.
Misty gloom has vanished, wild spirits now lifting.
......