I love Roethke's habit of asking questions in a poem, questions which he always answers with an apparent non-sequitur.
Homage to Theodore Roethke
When's my next ballad? Northwind speaks; I heed.
April impends. My angry thoughts recede.
Strange are the stars that light my winding way:
Give me the moon, and fields where lovers play.
What's heaven's name? I see the silver pond.
A bird's soft voice invites me to be fond.
In what house can I find my joy? The sky
Brings lucent constellations to my eye.
Muses, by all the whiskers on my chin,
Play me a song that makes new life begin.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
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Written on 2024-03-30 at 07:02
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