Page 14 - Contrast1971Fall

And new leaves will be bursting then as fire is now
But we ashes will rot on the ground,
And serve as bed and carpet for vermin.
But there are small white butterflies in the air
Now that seem to appear in cabbage patches
For two weeks after the initial blush
Explodes upon the trees, laying their eggs
Already looking to the spring.
And children run among corn stubbles trying to catch them for show and tell.
But the last rain comes and freezes the ground
To within a few inches of the pupae
And a single butterfly struggles against the impending doom,
Becoming in the end no more than a patch of white
Looking much like a small stone when seen from the window
Of Daniel Green's house as he looks out at the barn
Where his father is busy milking.
Milk is sweeter in October than any other
Time of the year;
For beauty grows from necessity; truth from despair.

TOM YINGLING

viii

Just twenty miles out of the cave
And already I'm in Gordon
Searching for a new dark house
Where I can muse away the day
And paint pictures on the walls.
But every now and then
When looking out to find the source
Of some distilling noise
Which penetrated darkness
And sifted through smoke
To evoke a single drop of curiosity
Amidst the flood of aging passions,