My silver syringe
Sucks out dark blood for vipers
Poison for poison
In the high temple
Hunger for tea-cake, flowers,
Mountain marmalade
Up on one long leg
Long Mary sights her own beak
Water reflected
In its Milky Way
Glides and flexes and ripples
Our Solar System
Season of mellow
Yellow fruit; ripeness is all
Too tired to die
Their great flaps empty
The whirring wings are circling
Empty this goose gyre
Tawny-Beaujolais
Autumn´s light a bit burnished
The grass a bit burned
I stirred not before
That entire rice-field was sown
A willow witnessed
Will not one singing
Beetle or bee make him blush ?
Poor Palestrina