by Anne Stevenson
We have seen ghosts of the once green peacocks
Walking through the stubble of the cut wheat,
Spreading their shady tails among the stalks.
Each certain of its magnificence, they meet,
But out of kindness do not tell each other
Of their sickly feathers, of their dim beaks.
From:
Collected Poems 1955-2005
Copyright ©:
2005, Bloodaxe Books
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