Today is not a day for writing poetry. /
No lists of beautiful things, /
interesting or thoughtful things, /
just the sun, shining incessantly. /
Just the wind, blowing meanly through my fingers. /
No rain. Inspiration and flood waters have dried, /
and there's no music in my soul. No sadness /
either, nor boredom, nor joy. All the languages/
of my expressiveness are silent today. /
All except baking: in my kitchen /
- out of season now - /
hot cross buns are rising./
No lists of beautiful things, /
interesting or thoughtful things, /
just the sun, shining incessantly. /
Just the wind, blowing meanly through my fingers. /
No rain. Inspiration and flood waters have dried, /
and there's no music in my soul. No sadness /
either, nor boredom, nor joy. All the languages/
of my expressiveness are silent today. /
All except baking: in my kitchen /
- out of season now - /
hot cross buns are rising./