Where white clouds form high rugged crags and green water rolling dark waves I hear a fisherman singing over and over the song of his oars verse after verse I try not to listen it stirs up too much sorrow who says sparrows don't have horns how else could they pierce my walls | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN INDIGNATION DINNER by JAMES DAVID CORROTHERS THE REMEDY WORSE THAN THE DISEASE by MATTHEW PRIOR A BETTER RESURRECTION by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI CURFEW MUST NOT RING TONIGHT by ROSE HARTWICK THORPE SABBATH MORNING by L. DALE AHERN |