Tag: Theodore Roethke
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The Waking
A quiet poem about noise. The Waking I strolled across An open field; The sun was out; Heat was happy. This way! This way! The wren’s throat shimmered, Either to other, The blossoms sang. The stones sang, The little ones did, And flowers jumped Like small goats. A ragged fringe Of daisies waved; I wasn’t…
Dan Yingst 