|
|
| swathed in clouds |
|
they roll, our
children
|
|
down the stony
hills
|
|
to land in piles
|
|
of leavetakings
|
|
and spread their
shed
|
|
cocoons like
lambskin
|
|
rugs for the
naked
|
|
babies they will
|
|
tenderly settle
there
|
|
to pump their
plump
|
|
legs against
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |