Same Song, Different Verse
On the Trail

Poetry Friday

Some poetry* for your Friday.

But first, some daffodils read to pop.  (Sadly, this was a week ago.  Before snow and freezing rain and a hard frost laid them down.)  (Not certain there'll be any popping now.)

Dafs before the snow

In Praise of Dreams

In my dreams
I paint like Vermeer van Delft.

I speak fluent Greek
and not just with the living.

I drive a car
that does what I want it to.

I am gifted
and write mighty epics.

I hear voices
as clearly as any venerable saint.

My brilliance as a pianist
would stun you.

I fly the way we ought to,
i.e., on my own.

Falling from the roof,
I tumble gently to the grass.

I've got no problem 
breathing under water.

I can't complain:
I've been able to locate Atlantis.

It's gratifing that I can always
wake up before dying.

As soon as war breaks out,
I roll over on my other side.

I'm a child of my age,
but I don't have to be.

A few years ago
I saw two suns.

And the night before last a penguin,
clear as day.

        --- Wislawa Szymborska
                from View with a Grain of Sand


* April is National Poetry Month.  Join me on Fridays - and maybe a few other days, too - for a silent poetry reading.

** I'm not bitter. (ha!)