Treasure Island

Theodore Roethke

(1908 - 1963 / Michigan / United States)

Snake


I saw a young snake glide
Out of the mottled shade
And hang, limp on a stone:
A thin mouth, and a tongue
Stayed, in the still air.

It turned; it drew away;
Its shadow bent in half;
It quickened and was gone

I felt my slow blood warm.
I longed to be that thing.
The pure, sensuous form.

And I may be, some time.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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