In a message dated 8/16/01 3:43:29 PM, [log in to unmask] writes:
<< Sholey
Sholey brings the summer in a shiny old tin bucket [love summer in a bucket
this image]
every year. He walks head high across the mountains
carrying the flowers. In the brim of his wide hat
nestle songbird eggs in pastel clutches. Sholey
holds the rainbow in one iris, in the other is a pool [also love this pool of
music image]
of music for the crickets and the treefrogs, for
all the strange small creatures. Sholey is the father
and the mother, gardener and guardian.
Sholey waits and watches, all the world his ward.
When the season withers and blue sky is widowed, [love sky widowed image]
Sholey is a sexton, who stands bare head bowed
in shadow, till he feels earth pulling at her moorings, [moonings - great]
then he rises,and polishes his pail, brushes clean
his felt fedora, pulls on his walking far boots and strides out
to the periwinkle foothills, lungs full of tomorrow, [also like periwinkle
foothills]
hullooing lanky blessings to the bright beloved stars. >> [what a splenidly
perfect final line!]
I love Sholey and your poem; well done, Grassy.
kol tuv, Ryfkah
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