To reach out into its own vanishing
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
and turn it into something cartoon-funny.
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.
Are muffled into silence that refuses
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
A frame of glided twilight—I
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
Late February, and the air's so balmy
To pick up even the quickening of wind
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
and turn it into something cartoon-funny.
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.
Are muffled into silence that refuses
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
A frame of glided twilight—I
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
Late February, and the air's so balmy
To pick up even the quickening of wind
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
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