Читать книгу On Leaves and Flowers and Trees - Father Ralph Wright - Страница 4

a young willow fountain of ice

this morning after Matins

against a rose January sky —

a masterpiece of curves in crystal

of haunting mauve beauty

blending the essentially gentle

giving receiving

circle of compassion

with the stark straight brittle

(shortest distance between two points)

battle line of fragile ultimata —

the Yes or No intransigence,

and transience,

of ice

angry impatience at the evil

in every heart except our own

that leaves a residue of empty boots

protruding from the enfolding snow