[lit-ideas] One more poema for the road
- From: -- <phatic@xxxxxxxxxx>
- To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Fri, 24 Jun 2005 16:12:36 +0200 (CEST)
Olav H. Hauge:
THE WEATHER COCK
The blacksmith molded him
with tail and comb,
high he rose,
the world was new,
and the winds many.
He was eager,
tip-toed, screamed,
and brushed his feathers
for every gust of wind.
He stood tall in storms,
and streched his neck --
Until he stuck in rust
and remained gazing
obliquely northwise.
The draught most often
comes from there.
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