The waves are crashing like honey Coming out of a jar The water is as cold as an ice cube Melting in your hand It’s the crisp of winter My body is full of goose bumps The sand is stuck to my feet And it reminds me of summer
The first scarlet, blood-red drop. Then another, And another, Staining the lovely green picture. Then Fall comes back, The red drops run up a tree to hide from the cold. The green turns to gold. The drops fall off the tree, Turning into queer, light, papery objects. Then children come. They bring big claws And heap the drops together. Then they jump. The drops scatter And perform that play over and over.
He whose heart is made of gold Weighs heavy on the chest. He who feels too little often finds himself in the dark corners of his mind.
PS: the magic page that will always jump you to the latest poem is "http://www.saintannsny.org/depart/computer/poems.html"