Dispossessed

Tender and tremulous green of leaves Turned up by the wind, Twanging among the vines— Wind in the grass Blowing a clear path For the new-stripped soul to pass... The naked soul in the sunlight... Like a wisp of smoke in the sunlight On the hill-side shimmering. Dance light on the wind, little soul, Like a thistle-down floating Over the butterflies And the lumbering bees... Come away from that tree And its shadow grey as a stone... Bathe in the pools of light On the hillside shimmering— Shining and wetted and warm in the sun-spray falling like golden rain— But do not linger and look At that bleak thing under the tree.