I wish I could promise to lie in the night
And share in an orchard’s arboreal plight,
When slowly (and nobody comes with a light!)
Its heart sinks lower under the sod;
But something has to be left to God.
THE RUNAWAY
Once when the snow of the year was beginning to fall,
We stopped by a mountain pasture to say “Whose colt?”
A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall,
The other curled at his breast. He dipped his head