Emily

The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow

Set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh

Little while later the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow

Do you remember what they called up to you and me, in our window?

There is a rusty light on the pines tonight

Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow

Into the bones of the birches

And the spires of the churches