Читать книгу Snake in the Grass - Larry Perez - Страница 5

A narrow Fellow in the Grass

Occasionally rides—

You may have met Him—did you not,

His notice sudden is—

The Grass divides as with a Comb—

A spotted shaft is seen—

And then it closes at your feet

And opens further on—

He likes a Boggy Acre

A Floor too cool for Corn—

Yet when a Boy, and Barefoot—

I more than once at Morn

Have passed, I thought, a Whip lash

Unbraiding in the sun

When stooping to secure it

It wrinkled and was gone—

Several of Nature’s People

I know, and they know me—

I feel for them a transport

Of cordiality—

But never met this Fellow

Attended, or alone

Without a tighter breathing

And Zero at the Bone—

Emily Dickinson, “The Snake,” 1866