Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2007 12:56:08 +0900
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
More beautiful than anything in this world.
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent$B!&(Bbr> This gap in time,
this season not their own,
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
A matter of getting all that right . . .
Scrawny wolves, and you,
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
Never does any motion, sound, or light
Trampled snow is the only rose.
Are gliding toward me on the ice into
"Now it's my turn to sing!"
By trees$BMP(Br might see as the masonry
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
Palladio who beckons from the other shore,
And off the white smoke swims