The Heron
by Robert Nye
The moon is in her shroud. A breathless heron
Like a sickle dipped in moonlight, knee-deep among streaming stars, a taciturn
And wistful fisher, starves out of her trance
And combs into thin air stiffly askance.
Like a sickle dipped in moonlight, knee-deep among streaming stars, a taciturn
And wistful fisher, starves out of her trance
And combs into thin air stiffly askance.
The moon is rising. O heron, heron
Where is there more to drown in than the Sea?
Where is there more to drown in than the Sea?