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Rating: 3.0

Each day brings its toad, each night its dragon.
Der heilige Hieronymus--his lion is at the zoo--
Listens, listens. All the long, soft, summer day
Dreams affright his couch, the deep boils like a pot.
As the sun sets, the last patient rises,
Says to him, Father, trembles, turns away.

Often, to the lion, the saint said, Son.
To the man the saint says--but the man is gone.
Under a plaque of Gradiva, at gloaming.

The old man boils an egg. When he has eaten
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Jerome Pindell 10 December 2016

Love Jarrell.....beautiful choice.

2 1 Reply
Seema Jayaraman 08 October 2015

found this poem a lil complex.. not sure if there is any hidden nunace being conveyed here..

2 1 Reply
Edward Kofi Louis 08 October 2015

Placidly; but, with the works of mankind. Nice piece.

1 2 Reply
Rahman Henry 08 October 2015

Very well job done. It's a nice poem in deed. Like the way, you have presented it here in this poem.

1 2 Reply
Photon Roy 08 October 2015

wow! what a wonder poem. I like it so much.

3 2 Reply
David Wood 08 October 2015

Absolute rubbish how can you call this a poem or even art.

2 4 Reply

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