Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick, <br />Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel-- <br />Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens-- <br />But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof. <br />Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus, <br />Ballades by the score with the same old thought: <br />The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished; <br />And what is love but a rose that fades? <br />Life all around me here in the village: <br />Tragedy, comedy, valor and truth, <br />Courage, constancy, heroism, failure-- <br />All in the loom, and oh what patterns! <br />Woodlands, meadows, streams and rivers-- <br />Blind to all of it all my life long. <br />Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus, <br />Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick, <br />Tick, tick, tick, what little iambics, <br />While Homer and Whitman roared in the pines?<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/petit-the-poet/
