Song of the Barren Orange Tree
Woodcutter.
Cut my shadow from me.
Free me from the torment
of seeing myself without fruit.
Why was I born among mirrors?
The day walks in circles around me,
and the night copies me
in all its stars.
I want to live without seeing myself.
And I will dream that ants
and thistleburrs are my
leaves and my birds.
Woodcutter.
Cut my shadow from me.
Free me from the torment
of seeing myself without fruit.
I love this painting & poem.
ReplyDeleteLorca
Your words drop
Like an old wooden bucket
On a long rope
Down a deep, dark well
Lined with scarred stone pillars
scraped by the fingers
Of centuries
At the bottom
In the centre of the earth
The bucket settles gently
In silver water
Before it is drawn back
Into moonlight
c Rae Desmond Jones