Poem of the Day. Rita Dove
di
Redazione Italia, July 28, 2016
Redazione Italia, July 28, 2016
Everybody who’s anybody longs to be a tree-
or ride one, hair blown to froth.
That’s why horses were invented, and saddles
tooled with singular stars.
or ride one, hair blown to froth.
That’s why horses were invented, and saddles
tooled with singular stars.
This is why we braid their harsh manes
as if they were children, why children
might fear a carousel at first for the way
it insists that life is round. No,
as if they were children, why children
might fear a carousel at first for the way
it insists that life is round. No,
we reply, there is music and then it stops;
the beautiful is always rising and falling.
We call and the children sing back one more time.
In the tree the luminuos sap ascends.
the beautiful is always rising and falling.
We call and the children sing back one more time.
In the tree the luminuos sap ascends.
