He Walked Among the Unspoiled Rushes
He walked among the unspoiled rushes
Which lined the shores of sparkling ponds,
A free soul, untouched by dirt-covered hands
And seen by few stark eyes:
The gleaming, dewy, will-o’-the-wisp
Of the gentle morning Cat’s Tail
—Bestowing the wind with a stream of cotton,
luminous, pure, the product of his mind.
He saw a world none other saw,
And he also was unseen;
Few could see his fall, suffer his dying breath—
But I—I felt it like a gale.
