The Bush Lover

He lingers in the lazy grass
And talks of loneliness with trees,
The clouds pass, and the hours pass;
And far afield he hears the bees.

He sees the wistful moon arise;
He sits and stares, and clasps his knees.
The town cries and the crowd cries,
'I’ll stay with theses, he says 'and these.'

by Leon Gellert

Other poems of LEON GELLERT (81)

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