“Just what do you see in this poetry?”
But he himself liked to fish;
He could linger for hours in the shade of a tree,
And watch the clouds, and wish.
“What is it you like in this poetry?”
But she herself liked to dance,
And music and rhythm and harmony
Reflected her happy glance.
The sun’ s on the snow, but this glare (to me)
May color your world today;
For , ever and ever, the poetry
Within us will find a way.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, January 10, 1945
