Friday, June 19, 2015


A poem that begins with the sun
Can only dim and dim from there
Unless it finds some other light
That knows more than a trick or two.
Think how surprised the sun was
To be called busy old fool!
But there are other stars of morning
If you know which way to look.
When John Donne bid angels play
Trumpets at Earth’s imagined corners
They came. Seek for them even now
You will find them still, obedient.

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