Litkicks Message Board Archive

The Prostitute

Posted to Poetry

Summer creeks have run dry.
I leave my mountain home
to search the valley bottom for water.
Frogs play in the mud by the banks,
and among the reeds a duck,
too self-absorbed in preening itself,
misses a meal as it swims casually by.
Why am I so concerned
with the affairs of Man?
Everything here speaks of contentment.
Even the sun seems to say
"lean and loaf at your ease".
But I am restless until
I hear news from the city.
My friends tell me you
are doing well.
I am glad.
In the austere splendour
of the mountains we called home
you were a mere lump of coal.
But among the lights of the city
you are once again a diamond.