By Thomas Page
290
Ebullient feelings,
Like flambéd meringue, rest upon
The base beneath it
291
Leaves hued with yellow
Falling gently on parents
Playing with their child
292
The cogs work beneath
The face of a clock ticking
Away on a wall
293
The bird feeder, prey
Of those who fear predators,
Torn asunder by hooves
294
A thousand whispers
Shriek in an open room, a
Battlefield of sound
295
A rock breaking the
Surface of a tranquil pond
Will be consumed whole
296
Crocodile tears
A display, acted pathos
Dammed river water
297
A blanched skull displayed
With flowers and fruits—
Juxtaposed winter and spring
298
At the bottom of
The ocean there may be a
Precious jewel unknown
299
A pearl is crafted
By chance in a mollusk’s mouth—
Fortune’s prized product
