A sun-spangled Spring
dawn, the birds subdued in our
buxom trees. The cat
sleeps on the window-
sill. It’s too early to go
out, yet already
the never-sleeping
one wakes to pick up the end-
less conversation.
Glosses on texts by William Desmond
A sun-spangled Spring
dawn, the birds subdued in our
buxom trees. The cat
sleeps on the window-
sill. It’s too early to go
out, yet already
the never-sleeping
one wakes to pick up the end-
less conversation.