At_Last

V i s i o n Trees encumber the sky,

Morsels of sun sneak nonetheless by. Light blue kisses the green on the ken. Birds hang suspended, then glide once again. Calling, Calling, Calling on wing then from pine. Unbothered, cattle point the wind 's blowing. Windings, that out, yet, again, in again go. Streams, whose glitter blazes, dream freezes. Grabbing me fast, til released when it pleases. Rivers, aloof, thus churn, from this eye. Nor could I unfold my wings in that sky. Mind is made so wondrously well It papers, thus, my Desolate cell.

G.F.E. McGuiness

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