Cocks crow memories of gardens gone to concrete behind canted teak houses. Down alley at the ice shop the saw buzzes - a thousand cicadas - cold loaves to crystal slices. My ceiling fan spins languidly the last coolness of 4 AM into the thread of morning heat. Aun, mopping the hall, sings softly as her barefooted tread, into my sweet haze of sleep a wistful, chromatic song, which my alien ears insist narrates the halftones of love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEFORE THE RAIN by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO NATURE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE DIRGE OF RORY O'MORE; 1642 by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL by FRANCIS BRET HARTE DANIEL WEBSTER by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES ON SOMETHING THAT WALKS SOMEWHERE by BEN JONSON THE MYSTERIOUS CAT by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY SCHOOL AND SCHOOLFELLOWS; FLOREAT ETONA by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED |