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The Song Thrush
J. M. Summers
No, do not think to burden
it with your own emotions.
But the eyes, so shy,
filled with such emotion,
surely, looking askance
into your own. There, the
temptation is too great.
Let us just note, then,
the steps, tentative,
delicate as death across
frosted ground subject to
this same infinity of sky,
the hills which mind us both,
and ask whose reflection you
expected to see in the
cracked face of this
ice bound morning.
J. M. Summers
No, do not think to burden
it with your own emotions.
But the eyes, so shy,
filled with such emotion,
surely, looking askance
into your own. There, the
temptation is too great.
Let us just note, then,
the steps, tentative,
delicate as death across
frosted ground subject to
this same infinity of sky,
the hills which mind us both,
and ask whose reflection you
expected to see in the
cracked face of this
ice bound morning.