Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Under a Horse-chestnut’s Blossom


While walking in the fading light
Of fading April’s final Sunday,
I paused beneath the bending leaves
Of a tree that grows between the road
And mirror of the river’s
Platinum reflecting surface,
Just to seat myself and take some
Weight from off my feet,
To clear my head so that it might
Be a clear April’s-Sunday–night-
And-starry sky of luminous ideas,
Not the dusty road of echoing footsteps past.

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