A poet roamed by rushing brook
Early springtime morning. The sound
Seemed softer than it should,
Tempered by, tempering,
Eager buds, new greens all around.
Still bare trees, they tempered too.
Contrast breeds content.
Then round a turn mad rushing brook
Maddened beast and bird.
Sound seemed of the air-
Like air, would never cease.
Green seemed of the rocks.
Content is content.
A cottage overlooked the brook.
'My thoughts at least are mine.
I've told them to the shepherds.
How contrast can contain content.
How content is content.
Pondering perhaps my words
Years after we are spent
They'll call the dell not what I call it,
They'll call it WILL'S DELL EMMA.'
I like this, as usual you introduce new and varying ideas to old themes and manage to weave in a pun or two.
Content, content. Clever. Very clever. A worthy bit of wordsmithing. R. G. Bell
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great, I love it. Was tryng to equate it with the word content untill that last line. That cracked me up. Sheer genius! I won't top that, but do read mine - Briar Fever - Adeline