Flashes Of Paradise

The little purple flower, today I looked across its petals;

Once they used to glisten in the morning dew.

Last night when I had gone with the lantern, to the old oak tree

The old owl, still inside its wooden porch;

Of the snarling red jaws; I heard the cries

Of the squirrel, and then the old owl flew, then the bats flittered.

And I woke up to the sound of the wild-cuckoo, and lay and listened

Till I could borrow.

A few quick beats from the cuckoo’s heart; and when I did rise,

Saw where the morning sun on the shaken iris glistened,

And I knew that, home, this valley as wider than paradise.

I learned it all from the wild-cuckoo,

From those strange throbs, beyond laughter and tears.

Now I know that this valley fleshed all like me

With feelings that change, quiver, and clash

And yet seem to tally

Like all the clash of the river moves on to the sea.