Pale Tribute

        The horses and the ponies now are gone
         to where our poems hold them sound, asleep.

Will moonlight shine again on streams, shine on
our previous lives, our loves, forever keep
giraffes, blue-bottles, maggots close to mind,
hot-air balloons that silence nature's call
to freedom from the pride of all mankind,
that crushes nature to a smutty ball?

There are no living verses which I know
could open hearts and heal my suffering
like these I read, as skimming stones
have scattered ripples in the age-old ring.

       The ring which I took back through shallow choice,
       the ring I give you, now I've found my voice.