Curled digits grapple the damp leaves,
Sweeping forth with laggard punches
That shatter the pearl white lichen,
Who's garnish kisses the peat moss.
It's phosphorous skin enchants death
To hawks, snakes, and virgin weasels.
Celadon ferns recall a day,
When that scaly drake was a fish,
And all continents were conjoined.
Still, like a swift flick of its tongue
Time caught the jocund grasshopper
And tumult goes on, with healed limbs
Endeavoring deeper waters.
Share This Poem