The trees diffuse in green and gold
The soft low light from the sleepy sun
And the twilight falls upon the brook
That sings its song when the night's begun.
An eye blinks there; a whisper of sound;
On the air there drifts the faintest musk.
The brook hugs close its blanket of moss
And sleepily flows in the gathering dusk.
A croak and a sigh; a swish and a slap --
And the light dies out in rippling rings.
Okay, so this one (from 1972) is a wee bit better. Yeah, it's immature, but I still like it. (Or at least, I'm not too embarrassed to put it out there.)
THE DRAGON'S TEA PARTY
( Collapse )