|
SCHERZA
RIMA
The
bullfinch, neck-deep in eyebright, passes
that
inch of sparkling tin you saw
with
hardly a ‘goodness’ and no ‘alases’.
He
merely humphs his mayorish maw
and
dots for beetles, the glare forgotten.
Not
so the haggard black miser daw.
...
(For full text see
the Kindle ebook The
Nature of Things (Collected Poems) by Alan Marshfield)
top
of page |
