what's o'clock
199
MORNING SONG, WITH DRUMS
The pheasants cry in the dawn,
Mocking the glitter of the nearby city
Struck upon the sky.
Mocking the glitter of the nearby city
Struck upon the sky.
Ivy in a wind,
Smooth grass,
Old cedar-trees.
Smooth grass,
Old cedar-trees.
Change is a bitter thing to contemplate
Across a grey dawn.
Puff-ball world, forsooth,
A kick and it is broken into smoke.
Across a grey dawn.
Puff-ball world, forsooth,
A kick and it is broken into smoke.
The pheasant's cry is raucous in the dawn.
