God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
A mysterious naked man has been reported
on Cranston Avenue. The police are performing
the usual ceremonies with coloured lights and sirens.
Almost everyone is outdoors and strangers are conversing
a crow, charcoal black, fierce eyes, blue
saturn ring in neck, beak dense black
sharp, arrived mysterious from nowhere
sat on a tree branch bearing mangoes
Sprightly and very much alive
For someone seventy-five
Wearing her trade mark sunglasses
To hide any trace of wrinkles
A chant for a children's pantomime dance, suggested by a picture painted by George Mather Richards.
I saw a proud, mysterious cat,
As once I rambled in the woods
I chanced to spy amid the brake
A huntsman ride his way beside
A fair and passing tranquil lake;
Who doesn't want
to be happy?
Spirit, lovely guest, who are you?
Whence have you flown down to us?
Taciturn and without a sound
Why have you abandoned us?
These days which, like yourself,
Seem empty and effaced
Have avid roots that delve
To work deep in the waste.