This poem was issued on 17th December 2005 by Ms Luchaobo
Now winter downs the dying of the year.
And night is all a settlement of snow;
From the soft street the rooms of houses show
A gathered light, a shapen atmosphere,
Like frozen-over lakes whose ice is thin
And still allows some stirring down within.
I've know the wind by water banks toshake
The late leaves down, which frozen where they fell
and held in ice as dancers in a spell
Fluttered all winter long into a lade;
Graved on the dark in gestures of descent,
They seemed their own most perfect monument.
There was perfection in the death of ferns
Which laid their fragile cheeks against the stone
a million years. Great mammoths overthrown
Composedly have made their long sojourns,
Like palaces of patience, in the gray
And changeless lands of ice. and at Pompeii
The |