Tazettas
Such a little crowd! All standing
tall to peer across each others’
shoulders, eyes and mouths wide open,
looking all one way intently,
singing like a little choir–
only silent, but their singing
rises in the dusk. I hear it
in my mind, to long remember
how the spring night smiles and listens,
how I listen to the joyous
music of their gentle being
as their fragrance fills the twilight,
perfume of their angel petals
singing between earth and heaven,
bringing all their bliss of springtime
to our hearts, the gift they give us
through all time, the pale narcissus.
Listening to Ravel on a Rainy Afternoon
Raindrops
And a pavane for a princess who is dead.
The gray clouds conceal the valley;
We weep for the princess;
She is far away.
All the sky is cloud,
And the cloud is sky;
She is far away;
Where is she, who is dead?
The raindrops are cold;
The sky is weeping;
We dance in mourning–
A slow dance and sad;
The tears of the clouds
Breathe across the land,
We weep in dancing;
And the earth and the little grasses
Smile beneath the tears.
Where do they go whom we weep?
Where do the waters run?
We shall dance in the rain;
We shall weep with the clouds;
And somewhere the princess is dancing
A pavane to a falling melody
In the rain of our tears
And the grasses smile at her feet.
Scent and music embodied in poetry ...!