Censors said, "No need to go on strike"
This certainly is not the Fourth Reich
I don't mind if you play
If I like what you say
Then I will let you say what you like
Meaning
In every sparrow's call
In each single clear drop of rain
At each quiet red sun's fall
Or when innocents cry in pain
For all these common events
No matter how small the gleaning
There always is certain sense
And a hidden, divine meaning
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A Matter of Moment
I was a skimskipping stone
On this sunnystill day
Brighter than bright
Clearer than clear
Greener than green
Weedgreen
The lake
An elven looking glass
From a timelost time
Beckoning...
Then gone
In a silverflash
Deerleap moment
Shattered to crystalglint shards
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Byzantium
The caravan plods a constant pace
Across searing desert sands
Through shimmering air
Bells tinkling, leather harnesses creaking
All along the serpentine line
Stretching out raggedly
Over wind-sculpted flaring dunes
Each camel heaped with silks and spices
Essential oils and exotic scents
Traveling a route lost in time
Winding slowly around the rippled
Knife-edged sand hills
Beneath a brilliant azure sky
Unrelieved by clouds
There is no water or shade
No bird--no flying insect
This deep, this far out
In the blistering wasteland
Bare of life, ruled only
By wind, sun, rock, and sand
With ponderous dignity and grace
The camels glide steadily over
Desolate sun-blasted terrain
Into distorting heat waves
Toward the lush emerald oasis
While sharp shadows lengthen
Marching in step alongside
As a giant tangerine sun sets
Silhouetting distant
Dreamlike palm and fig trees
With bands of orange and saffron
On the wavering horizon
The rich, moist perfume of water
Wafts in desiccated air
Proof the dancing island of green
Is no taunting mirage
Snorts of anticipation
Mark the quickening pace
As parched weariness is forgotten
In the last drive into the trees
Bundles swaying in a twilight breeze
Beneath the crescent moon
Embracing a shining star
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