Vacation Is Her Vocation Poem by James McLain

Trembling never still, on her picture
a reel, here I watch.In love she worked so hard, like corn
bread and milk, as sweet as her blush.
The flax is no longer yellow, the warm sun of time has left
me, my musk has long since faded, indiscernible.
I sit on a boulder, in the middle of the Suwanee river, springs
are white much to rapid.
The shoals like my hair near white, never still.
The corn sweet is much to husky.
A cob once full, smothered in taste, has long flown away.
Royal blue has colored the sky, inside her skin.