Chaos of the Sun

The sky will be much friendlier then than now,

A part of labor and a part of pain,


And next in glory to enduring love,


Not this dividing and indifferent blue….

We live in an old chaos of the sun,


Or old dependency of day and night,


Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,


Of that wide water, inescapable,


Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail

Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;

Alas, these are wild turkeys, not quails. LOL

Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;


And, in the isolation of the sky,


At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make


Ambiguous undulations as they sink,

Downward to darkness, on extended wings.


Poetry from “Sunday Morning,” by Wallace Stevens (1879-1955).
Photos by Eowyn
~Eowyn

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lowtechgrannie lowtechgrannie
Member
lowtechgrannie lowtechgrannie

Wow! This certainly is a better way to start the day than reading a story about a pedophile or a union thug! LOL!

 
Judy
Guest

Beautiful!