Poem for Sunday

A poem about Granddaddy Cage (written Jan. 14, 1973 by JRC):

Something Green

Whatever sprig he touched would leaf and bloom,
Returning flowers for the tunes he sang;
And he himself seemed taller in the sun,
His white head heightened by its pallid gold.
He loved the grass and all green springing life,
And robins followed him around the lawn
As chickens trail the farmer’s wife. His hands
Were large as God’s, of whom he never spoke;
There, too, perhaps he probed under the mulch
Of the old magic, feeling a stir of growth;
Believed that sunlight, watering and weeding
Could coax the earth to grow a thing to worship;
Knew if he sowed and waited for the spring,
Something green was bound to come of it.



Last night I watched "White Fang" on TV. Klaus Maria What's-His-Name, and some young guy. Good little movie. Lots of snow. Wolf-dog. I hated the part where the crooks made the dogs fight. The best part (to me) was near the beginning, where the great grizzly had the young guy cornered and was about to eat him; W.F. Wolf-dog got between them and scared the bear away. Of course, it was really Bart the Bear; I doubt a real wild grizzly would slink away from a wolf who was 3/4 dog.