Monday, June 6, 2016


So still the morning as if each leaf
Is only an image of itself.
A bird sings, then stops. In a while
Another bird sings but soon finds
He has nothing much to say.
The faint sound of a far off motor;
The cat lifts her head. "Motorbike," she says,
"An Indian Model O. Last made in 1919
But some still turn up because a defect
Makes them ride through time;
I wonder how a Genoese plague doctor
Managed to get hold of one
And who taught her to drive?"

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