Homage to Stevens

In woods of words there was a whisper-tree,an inner voice epitomizedby green, a leafy spire.

The woods clucked in a hubbub with the pond,C’est moi. The great blue heronhawked up a war cry.

Even the ducks were gunboats gold-platedwith ack-acks. A port blown upby ducks! All ducks ashore!

There were no ducks, no boats, no port. The woodswent pop at noon and fizzed. Onlythe whisper-tree stood fast.