All this has been experienced
And tasted more than once
To be put to the worse: the course
Of years and generations
Of the foreign descendants,
Progression, oppression,
Recovery, discovery, and finally
Enduring affection of the polar exile;
A half-yearly chasing of the sun
And wind-break which penetrates at last
Into this sentimental romance --
My Song of Contemplation
About the incident waves, a gentle gesture,
A maiden's head elegant rotation
Amid the delicate sweet scent
Of resinous sap moistening the cedar cones
And sleep-glued buds of the red pines
And everlasting game of the northern lights
Bounded off from its own reflection
On the slick of a deep blue glaze
To a half of its full satisfaction
Till the rare day break. And though
I have sung away this Song of mine
Time and again, what remains in the end
Is not the fascinating romance
Of my fleeting life's contemplation.
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Diana...
poignant read
Dan