All day the blanket snapped and swelled
on the line, roused by a hot spring wind....
  From there it witnessed the first sparrow,
early flies lifting their sticky feet,
and a green haze on the south-sloping hills.
Clouds rose over the mountain....At dusk
I took the blanket in, and we slept,
restless, under its fragrant weight.

Added: on May 1st, 2005 at 3:31 PM | Viewed: 2963 times | Comments (1)

Poet: Jane Kenyon
Poem: Wash
Poem of the Day: May 1 2005

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