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Morning
MORNING
Euphony quips
Across a glen that’s fens of larks away
And bidding dew farewell
They fard a droopy tulip bell
With couplets of sunray and song
And I awake
A little late and under versed to tell
The dicta of their chickalogue
And slip of my spirit’s tongue, I laugh
As they yet the morning applaud
And I stir
Awash in a garrulous grassy damask
A tier ‘neath the vesper veil
In vernal attire, the agrarian choir
Rhymes pensile wicks away
And I arise
Embossed on a flitting chit of sand
O’er the ever gobbling glass gullet
Above? Not a chit, but a chink I think,
And the larks echolalia o’er, they soar
And I soar
Surplice in a psalm of the fruit of your lips
For thou scrivened the whorl entrails
And set it a whirl, that morn after morn,
Euphony quips across a glen
Written in 1982, in Pittsburg, California. Followed many visits to the duck pond at Los Medanos city college.
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