Here Be Dragons
under bits of carpet and the shadows of a chair
lurking round the ringing bits of bells
You won’t see them, because their wings
sweep fire and brimstone and pavement dirt
into your eyes, where they stick all black
in the corners, and make you forget
They roll on marbles so you can’t hear
the crunch of claws, and think it’s just the wind
and like forgotten places, attics and window frames
where they can draw their simple thoughts in dust
They are getting old, and they don’t like loud music or cars
or skyscrapers, or new fangled disco dancing
And when the sun gets hotter their scales will melt
along with frog’s crowns and the harshness of peas
The dragons won’t bother us any more.
Selected Poems by Emily Dickinson http://www.mith2.umd.edu/WomensStudies/ReadingRoom/Poetry/Dickinson/
ReplyDeleteA drop fell on the apple tree
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.
A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!
The dust replaced in hoisted roa
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.
The breezes brought dejected
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.