Columbia Line Poem by Pierre Rausch

The docks in the brooks wept lane
Column's ringing drops, carved dew

The container, the dark door wide
Aren't there outsiders on the bed of that my pride
A red rose and a minstrels flight
Red favored favor despite

On a red mole, it climbed inside
An octave, white, blue frame and I'd
My hand off, on a peer, website
To the familiar door that she'd guide

On the white, longer growing green, and minstrel fed
The singing breaks, shewed villages of a wishful lad
And over the glazed fingers skated that her were set

Dancing hollowed form
Brims with key, cotyledon green key
And fast through the drifts of a ticker volunteer
And over the cloth the rode chevalier