The old watch: their <br />thick eyes <br />puff and foreclose by the moon.The young, heads <br />trailed by the beginnings of necks, <br />shiver, <br />in the guarantee they shall be bodies. <br /> <br />In the frog pond <br />the vapor trail of a SAC bomber creeps, <br /> <br />I hear its drone, drifting, high up <br />in immaculate ozone.<br /><br />Galway Kinnell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/vapor-train-reflected-in-the-frog-pond/
