Robert Francis

(August 12, 1901 - July 13, 1987 / Pennsylvania / United States)

Waxwings - Poem by Robert Francis

Four Tao philosophers as cedar waxwings
chat on a February berry bush
in sun, and I am one.

Such merriment and such sobriety--
the small wild fruit on the tall stalk--
was this not always my true style?

Above an elegance of snow, beneath
a silk-blue sky a brotherhood of four
birds. Can you mistake us?

To sun, to feast, and to converse
and all together--for this I have abandoned
all my other lives.


Submitted by Larry Bole


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Read poems about / on: snow, together, sun, sky



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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