Please make my feet as sure as a deer's,
balanced on the cliff so I can look over.
I'd see you and the dawn, and I wouldn't mind
the dew on my fur, chilled by the death of night,
or the fruitless grass to eat - I'd love the frolic,
the dance of the dawn, before it blossomed
and I chewed on its flower, warmed
by expectation.
No comments:
Post a Comment