Scatter, Relent, Turn To The Muses, Poem by Sam Hickford
Scatter, Relent, Turn To The Muses,
The nymphs do not absolve. They only follow
water in blind impulse. So
an oak stipple hosts no sinless clamber, til
the festering of youth is gone away
and some blind man is peering in the branches,
calloused, and we sing to him alone,
O man of tortured patience, metal
soul; oh man of drowning steel.
Tuesday, March 25, 2025
Topic(s) of this poem: branches
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8/29/2026 10:21:35 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
