feather of life   
 in the hollow of the gorse   
 the sun has gone out   
 so that full skin is born   
 happy Days.      
  
 Hear and be silent   
 when stands the lawyer   
 near his pavilion   
 counting the nuts of the grant   
 in denial of oneself.      
  
 take and put away   
 for the day of glory helping   
 come out of his lair   
 like day in winter   
 go through the thickets with foaming lips.      
  
 Come out one last time   
 of joy and fury    
 the office mare   
 of Charybde on Scylla   
 to be poor of oneself.      
  
 My love of living waters   
 let's not measure our laughter   
 as for the salt meadow of our childhood   
 the sunday sheep   
 are splashes of watercolor.      
  
  
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