Monday, August 31, 2009

Preparation by Sara Bard Field

To drop our leaves of sense;
Sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell,
Before death's imminence
Is wise—is gently well.
Leaf thirst for sun, rain, sap, and air is deep;
Bare branches only ask for sleep.

Friday, August 14, 2009

The treasure hunt by Robert Penn Warren

Hunt, hunt again. If you do not find it, you
Will die. But I tell you this much, it
Is not under the stone at the foot
Of the garden, nor by the wall at the fig tree.
I tell you this much to save you trouble, for I
Have looked, I know. But hurry, for

The terror is, all promises are kept.

Even happiness.