Morning
(Adapted from: Natural Memories, stanza iv)
Often I have smelled
The clinging, oily redolence
Of clammy, tangy tall pines;
Rare floral fragrances inhaled
And breathed the odours which arose
Whan morning mists from shadowed lakes
Ascended to the brightening skies
Between the steaming trees,
As though there burned, beneath
The opaque interface
Where liquid melts to air,
The smoking camp-fires of a mighty host
Concealed from my occluded eyes.
