JH (6 September,1962 / Sydney, Australia)

Second Song

That part which is beyond us...
Eyes are staring outward
Grasping, tickling
A song, a young song
Drifts yet again through
The air to whoever
A sacrament of purely human love
Of desire beyond our
Limited comprehension.
Infatuation creeps up, grasping
There is an unsettled
Rustling in the air.
The song soothes but the problem
All is a rustling.
And as dead leaves gather
Below the tree
Their decay will bring
Pushed by a song of the wind.

(15 August 1984)

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Robert Frost

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

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