Cocks crow memories of gardens gone to concrete behind canted teak houses. Down alley at the ice shop the saw buzzes - a thousand cicadas - cold loaves to crystal slices. My ceiling fan spins languidly the last coolness of 4 AM into the thread of morning heat. Aun, mopping the hall, sings softly as her barefooted tread, into my sweet haze of sleep a wistful, chromatic song, which my alien ears insist narrates the halftones of love. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO SOME LADIES [ON RECEIVING A CURIOUS SHELL] by JOHN KEATS THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER by ALEXANDER POPE FROM THE ANTIQUE (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A SUMMER NIGHT by GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL SPANISH WINGS: A LEAF FROM A LOG BOOK by H. BABCOCK PSALM 133 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE LOVE'S WORD by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE |