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QUESTION

In my garden
there are no roaring lions,
no grunting lusty bears - 
only a gentle silent giraffe
who comes daily
and peers plaintively
through long silky eyelashes
into my dining room
where I sit alone
nibbling thin cucumber sandwiches
and sipping pale tea.  Offered
a sugar cube, he blinks satisfaction
and trots off on easy graceful legs
into nowhere.

Often at dark
before lamps are lit,
I see a vague shadow
restless among tall birches
and know, that though he is speechless,
he is there.

What is he waiting for?  
Why doesn't he come in?

      

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Copyright 1989 by Mildred A. Rose,

all rights reserved.
Originally published by The Music House Press.
No part of this collection may be reproduced,
except in short reviews, without the
author's permission.

Feb 08, 2012, 06:23 AM CST

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