Thinking of My Little Boy
Pony Boy—spring and you're still far away;
warblers sing, so many in this warmth.
Parted, I'm startled at how the season change.
My bright boy, with whom is he discoursing?
Valley Stream, a road over empty hills,
rustic gate, village of old trees—
Thinking of you, sorrowing, all I do is doze,
back to the sun, hunched over on the bright veranda.
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