Tortoise Family Connections |
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Go Back Boyhood Fall Of Man The Man Disppointment More Disappointment Bride Born Resources The Mocking Bird A Strip of Blue A Year in Heaven Excursion The Hands of the Betrothed Last Words to Miriam Lui et Elle His wimple Tortoise Family Connections Newport A Doggrel in a Dormant Window Memory The Stream The Roman Ring A Thousand Years Ago Old man Mnasidika The Lady |
he goes, the little one, Bud of the universe, Pediment of life. Setting off somewhere, apparently. Whither away, brisk egg? CheepHotels Best Airfairs GirlShoes His mother deposited him on the soil as if he were no more than droppings, And now he scuffles tinily past her as if she were an old rusty tin. A mere obstacle, He veers round the slow great mound of her-- Tortoises always foresee obstacles. It is no use my saying to him in an emotional voice: "This is your Mother, she laid you when you were an egg." Croc Shoes Reef Sandles Areosoles Shoes Luchesse Boots He does not even trouble to answer: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?" He wearily looks the other way, And she even more wearily looks another way still, Each with the utmost apathy, Incognizant, Unaware, Nothing. Florsheim Astoria Shoes DeltaFaucets PricePfister As for papa, He snaps when I offer him his offspring, Just as he snaps when I poke a bit of stick at him, Because he is irascible this morning, an irascible tortoise Being touched with love, and devoid of fatherliness. BoyShoes Kedshoes ChildShoes Esshoes Father and mother, And three little brothers, And all rambling aimless, like little perambulating pebbles scattered in the garden, Not knowing each other from bits of earth or old tins. Except that papa and mama are old acquaintances, of course, But family feeling there is none, not even the beginnings. Convers All Star Shoes Converse Outlet Dansko Outlet Fatherless, motherless, brotherless, sisterless Little tortoise. Row on then, small pebble, Over the clods of the autumn, wind-chilled sunshine, Young gayety. Does he look for a companion? No, no, don't think it. He doesn't know he is alone; Isolation is his birthright, This atom. To row forward, and reach himself tall on spiny toes, To travel, to burrow into a little loose earth, afraid of the night, To crop a little substance, To move, and to be quite sure that he is moving: Basta! To be a tortoise! Think of it, in a garden of inert clods A brisk, brindled little tortoise, all to himself-- Crosus! In a garden of pebbles and insects, Slow, and unquestioned, And inordinately there, O stoic! Wandering in the slow triumph of his own existence, Ringing the soundless bell of his presence in chaos, And biting the frail grass arrogantly, Decidedly arrogantly. |