Sunday Poem

D hand feeding a wild deer, Bald Mountain, NY

 

A white doe on the green grass appeared to me, with two golden

horns, between two rivers, in the shade of a laurel, when the sun

was rising in the unripe season.

 

Her look was so sweet and proud that to follow her I left every task,

like the miser who as he seeks treasure sweetens his trouble with

delight.

 

“Let no one touch me,” she bore written with diamonds and topazes

around her lovely neck. “It has pleased my Caesar to make me free.”

 

And the sun had already turned at midday; my eyes were tired by

looking but not sated, when I fell into the water, and she

disappeared.

 

– Rima 190, by Petrarch (b.1304- d.1374)

 

One for the writers. Sometimes the sentence or the success is as fleet as deer, and always out of reach. Sometimes even deer are happy to be in our company, for a while.

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3 Comments

Filed under 2012, art, consolations of writing, New York

3 responses to “Sunday Poem

  1. CJ

    That is surely a Sunday gift. Thank you.

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