No, Tom
Take your hands off the raincloud, Tom,
God told Thomas;
Go wring that towel you dropped into the pool.
Leave my twilight alone, Tom,
God told Thomas;
Light a candle and pray.
Don’t wipe your soles on my prairie grass, Tom,
God told Thomas;
Load them with grains from the sand-pit.
Don’t eye my lotus stems, don’t chase my
backwater ducks,
don’t covet
that little squirrel’s tail fur.
Don’t play my broken reeds, Tom;
Play the drum that you left behind.
No comments:
Post a Comment