Hamburger icon
Advertisement

Four Questions, to be Read Slowly

By W. Campbell,


I.


Beneath the ice

the fishes flitter

for the little lupple

of a tiny cupple.

II


A poem is casual.

Further it is

fervent, trustful and unusual.

So why should not

I, the poet-player,

twitch happily

bristle proudly

sleep soundly,

to announce the swift and solid landing

of a woman with slow eyes

on me?

III.


Tinkle, craning to cook.

A sodden straining to look.

The splendour of our matting crime

Kept tender in her fatting prime?

IV.


WAN and

me too

thee

for

life-lorn.

Advertisement
Advertisement