ODE TO A MORNING GLORY
by claude calhoun duncan, III
Upon the trellised portico
Leading down into the sea,
The morning brings a happy show,
Which I concede is thee.
I see thy silent trumpet borne
High by peaks of dancing light --
How deftly doth thy swaying scorn
The geometric height!
Oh, yes! I see you hide your gold
In a supple, breast-white chest,
So sensuous as the sun takes hold
And mother leaf doth rest.
But do not blush or fear, my maiden --
I knew you as a cotyledon.