Ivor Gurney (1890-1937 / England)
The wind frightens my dog, but I bathe in it,
Sound, rush, scent of the Spring fields.
My dog's hairs are blown like feathers askew,
My coat's a demon, torturing like life.
Submitted: Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Comments about this poem (April Gale by Ivor Gurney )
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