The sun is slipping down the horizon
the sunset threatens to disappear
Like a rusty penny
An echelon of wild geese gather above
so I follow grey wings into the storm.
My arms are branches and you are
cut me down to a boat.
My spine a sturdy keel , my hair
unfurled sails. A distant lighthouse
my only lamp for you hold the stars
in your hand.
If red sails are cast into a cleft too
deep for me to cross
I was trying to get to you.
Everyone is trying out their costumes for the party. The chicklets have learned, over the years, that their wings must be free, and they have to be able to use their beaks.
Clarese is going as a very nice vampire, who rescues animals from bad people. James is going as a clown. But clowns are not liked very much, since they often frighten the baby chicklets and bunnies, so James said he may change his costume and be a race care driver instead Fuzzy Tail is a Super Shero. She made her cape all by herself, and is very happy that she joined the costume committee a few months ago.
Costumes are in flux, changes are being made on a daily basis, so no one is sure about anything, which is a big part of the fun.
The trees are filled with blossoms
they wave beneath the pale sky
like pink hands of impish children.
Meet me in the orchard
before summer slips away,
I want to dip my hand in
the cold brook just to feel
Naked among bird of paradise
sun-drenched thighs wet with dew
feed me sweet red apples
while they are nothing more
I am honored and pleased, my dear friends What I can say here today is that the recognition for excellence for the beauty of the narrative in the poem this time travels to the U.S. to our esteemed poet, Holly Hunter. Thank you, dear Holly, for enriching our souls with the beauty of your poetry.