“Measuring a summer’s day, I only find it slips away to grey.”
—Led Zeppelin, Tangerine
“A metaphysician in the dark, twanging
An instrument, twanging a wiry string…”
—Wallace Stevens
Look how they’re strung—one by one
they fall to the grace of lissom fingers—plucked
blossoms set against winter’s face—as if
their voices were stalwart locusts—amon…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The Wandering Metaphor to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.