Page 19 - Contrast1984v26

Walking past manmade things
Out in uneven night, I
See a nook of tangled brush
Yet uncleared by tidy men
Silently, I study it:
High yellow grass sparsely carpets
Grey knotty trees squeezed
By madly groping vines;
Dormant trees, fraught with holes
That animals bore in spring--
From afar I hear the drone
Of a natural metronome,
Erratic time, harsh and keen,
Serves as scale to note the scene.
Cutting the brush into straggly bars
In a pattern as ragged as the stars'.

Too cold to stay, I head for horne
Measuring my steps
To a halting metronome.

ChM.J.> BeyeN.>