A Birthday Poem
Just past down, the sun stands
With its heavy red head
In a black stanchion of trees
Waiting for someone to come
With his bucket
For the foamy white light
And then a long day in the pasture
I too spend my days grazing
Fasting on every green moment
Till darkness calls
And with the others
I walk away into the night
Swinging the little tin bell
of my name
