I saw a young snake glide
Out of the mottled shade
And hang, limp on a stone:
A thin mouth, and a tongue
Stayed, in the still air.

It turned; it drew away;
Its shadow bent in half;
It quickened and was gone

I felt my slow blood warm.
I longed to be that thing.
The pure, sensuous form.

And I may be, some time.

by Theodore Roethke

Comments (22)

What a turn at the end
So dear and lovely! ... Thanks for sharing.
With locks of gold and eyes that shame the light.
Her future is with me... Thanks for sharing. Sylva
Great wonderful poem. Well penned.
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