Joy
It flitters o’re the spring,
the dragonfly of silver,
And gives the light to change
and pleases me to singing.
First black, then white,
chameleon entrancing,
first white, then red
then red, then green, forever changing.
Oh that I held its many colors,
but it so constant flutters,
hovers steady o’re the spring.
But there it rests! There, in the reeds!
At last, I have it! At last I see!
And so I cup my shaking palms and peer
and see exact: a deep sad blue.
So it is for you, dissector of your pleasures.
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