#hares
In this room, there is always a fly trying to leave.
It never quite makes it.
It buzzes angily off and on against the glass pane.
Through the window July treetops are a green forgetting of other seasons. Winter is a dream, shrouded in leafy abundance. Spring is a thought of Summer before it came.
On an island in Denmark, you drink white wine.
You are mellow and tipsy, you say.
Hares play in front of you in a field,
They rarely think of leaving
or playing a better game.
Aug 5, 2023
Aug 5, 2023 at 5:38 AM UTC
Oh architects of concrete
How you have stolen my plains
And dredged my soul
The Falcon hovers in vain
And the Hare has no hope
While you swing you clubs
For glory and embrace the
Walls filled with accolades
All at nature's dire expence
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 1:30 PM UTC
My eyes search
the navy air
but are unable to
depict the
soft features of the rabbits
loping tentatively
through patchy glebe.
I wish it was spring with
bright white fruits.
Just ripe.
Not summer, because
in the summer we cloy
under the fat cream trees.
I want to see you,
and the wild hares,
but the twilight's
hiding
its secrets from us.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC