Wednesday, November 4, 2015

For John Clare

I love to see leaves blaze to bold brash red,
Their waxy yellow veins making pale streaks;
See squirrels scamper up broad-shouldered oaks,
Or the dun-gray rabbit with its milk-white tail
(Long-eared big-bellied bag of bounce and frisk)
Happily loping from picket fence to path:
I love the moon distinct in the sky's deep blue
Making the blueness all around it glow.

I love to see frost crisp and whiten grass,
To hear the clamorous grammar of the sparrows
Half-bicker and half-praise in the newborn light;
I love to drink fresh water, achingly cold,
In cupped and lifted hands -- the lively water
That rushes over the slick stones of the Gale --
And most of all, on cold November nights,
I love the smell of unseen threads of woodsmoke
From a neighbour's fire in the year's huddled dusk.

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