Here she is again, old Worm-beak,
Breast the color of a mud lake,
Perched on a post of the rail fence,
An eye of shining insolence.
Frowzy, windblown, she whistles twice
Some notes retrieved from Paradise,
Swoops and spears the lawn and is gone
Into the cherry’s greening crown.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The New Sense and Sensibility Lacks Austen’s Comic Vision
Georgia Oakley’s new Sense and Sensibility film adaptation is a tragedy. Not in the sense that it…
Serial Liar, Serial Comma
How would you write a public letter that you know will become front-page news? Would you write…
Shakespeare Under Stalin’s Shadow
”We wish that we could pass this play over, and say nothing about it. All that we…
