by Gideon Burton
I've praised her beauty one too many times,
I fear, the rolling earth, her many lands and seas,
And overworked my meter and my rhymes
Attempting awkward portraits. Though she please
Me new each season turned, I have not learned
To sing as well as this her stream or breeze.
And if the sun some desert place has burned
Into a bitter dust by day to freeze
At night, I have some cloudy wetted verse
Allowed her or with heated stanzas set
Her right, as though with poetry to nurse
What centuries have marred and eons set.
Do I invoke the spell or give it voice?
My earthly home, so grand, I have no choice.
Image: flickr -Lady Bug