Spry, wry, and gray as these March sticks,
Percy bows, in his blue peajacket, among the narcissi.
He is recuperating from something on the lung.
The narcissi, too, are bowing to some big thing :
It rattles their stars on the green hill where Percy
Nurses the hardship of his stitches, and walks and walks.
There is a dignity to this; there is a formality-
The flowers vivid as bandages, and the man mending.
They bow and stand : they suffer such attacks!
And the octogenarian loves the little flocks.
He is quite blue; the terrible wind tries his breathing.
The narcissi look up like children, quickly and whitely.
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Comments
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This isn't among my favorite, but the sheer depth of meaning coupled with her excellent detail to description and creative word play is something I always admire in her writing and it is found here.
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"The flowers vivid as bandages...". I love how she uses flowers in so many different ways. Whether describing them or using them to describe something else, she makes me think of them differently every time I read another one of her poems. I LOVE HER!!!!!!!
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"Spry, wry and gray.." good lines. interesting poem.
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