Four Tao philosophers as cedar waxwings
chat on a February berry bush
in sun, and I am one.

Such merriment and such sobriety--
the small wild fruit on the tall stalk--
was this not always my true style?

Above an elegance of snow, beneath
a silk-blue sky a brotherhood of four
birds. Can you mistake us?

To sun, to feast, and to converse
and all together--for this I have abandoned
all my other lives.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 398 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Robert Francis
Poem: Waxwings
Volume: The Orb Weaver
Year: Published/Written in 1960
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