Pastorals Cold
Pastorals cold,
Lie in wait for mornings that never come.
Cold cast clay rests eternity in frieze,
Woken only by the wandering eye.
The painted chase - cloyed pursuit in dead spring;
The chipped flute - only a remainder -
No rhymed song sung from that frozen vessel
Of eunuch love songs in a molded time.
But we, the living lovers laugh lyric
Songs that no hollow clay can ever hold.
We rise out of the dust into ourself -
Rooted to each other renewed, drinking
The cup of mingled blood, making our song
Of the rose, the sharp braced rose - taking
The clay and giving ourselves into a
Living one.
Grand Island
1974
Grand Island Series
©1974 Pastorals Cold — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.
Lie in wait for mornings that never come.
Cold cast clay rests eternity in frieze,
Woken only by the wandering eye.
The painted chase - cloyed pursuit in dead spring;
The chipped flute - only a remainder -
No rhymed song sung from that frozen vessel
Of eunuch love songs in a molded time.
But we, the living lovers laugh lyric
Songs that no hollow clay can ever hold.
We rise out of the dust into ourself -
Rooted to each other renewed, drinking
The cup of mingled blood, making our song
Of the rose, the sharp braced rose - taking
The clay and giving ourselves into a
Living one.
Grand Island
1974
Grand Island Series
©1974 Pastorals Cold — Joseph W. Yarbrough
Reproduction prohibited without written permission.