Denis Johnson

Denis Johnson
Denis Johnson 1949-2017

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Clover


These are fragrant acres where
Evening comes long hours late
And the still unmoving air
Cools the fevered hands of Fate.

Meadows where the afternoon
Hangs suspended in a flower
And the moments of our doom
Drift upon a weightless hour.

And we who thought that surely night
Would bring us triumph or defeat
Only find the stars are white
Clover at our naked feet.  

Tennessee Williams

2 comments :

  1. Elizabeth! This is so great. I like the natural vibe that your blog gives off. This is a ingenious! Reminds me of Walt Whitman. I like Walt Whitman. He was a total rebel.

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  2. glad you like my blog. and yes, walt was quite the rebel. and i can relate to rebels.

    cheers!

    elizabeth

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