I saw a young snake glide
Out of the mottled shade
And hang, limp on a stone:
A thin mouth, and a tongue
Stayed, in the still air.

It turned; it drew away;
Its shadow bent in half;
It quickened and was gone

I felt my slow blood warm.
I longed to be that thing.
The pure, sensuous form.

And I may be, some time.

Added: on May 20th, 2005 at 9:36 PM | Viewed: 5714 times | Comments (2)

Poet: Theodore Roethke
Poem: Snake

Poem of the Day on:
Jul 28 2003

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