Lines to a Prophet

You have already heard; why do you stare
At the slammed garden gate?
At the chipped red rail, at the
Last wisp of sky?

You decided; head bowed, knuckles firm
On the ancient table,
In the assumed shroud, as she
Turned from the porcelain stove.

Winter knocks gently on the pane.
There was storm already in your head,
As you gathered miles in a glance,
Saw them running with sleigh dogs--
Turned down your collar on chance.

There is pity in nature. Why else would
Snow hold so fast, in diverse worlds?

But walk halfway round the room,
You have already turned your back.

Comments

[american fez]

"There is pity in nature." You may be the first person to claim that. At least you are the first that I've heard.