Lee, Steve Collington is a pretty masterful rhyming metrist, minding me of our Aussie, Henry Quince. He doesn't make mistakes. He is also a real authority on Japanese verse; and yes, he could certainly teach a master class here. Steve, four of these really flew my kite over Kabul: Summer, it's me. Plink. Meadow, and Chain. But when a gig is going as well as this, the old host always asks: Steve and Lee, will you reprise this next October? Then I can just hunt birds and not worry about the Sphere?
Three Seasons
for L.G. and S.C.
Feeney the fragrant—
his black coat browned by pond scum,
reeking of birdblood.
My rubber kneeboots
shedding mud in the closet,
cocklebur heaven!
My thirsty Bronco—
collecting pheasant feathers
late in December.
But forty pheasants
cleaned and bagged in the freezer?
Good until Easter.
appreciatively, yr Lariat
[This message has been edited by Tim Murphy (edited October 19, 2008).]
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