The goose-girl
cannot hear the goose
A-honking in her grasp:
"Embrace me truculent gosling
Ere time fluffs our down
And serves us plucked upon the
platter;
Spread the tender thighs,
The wet, webbed lilies ..."
Willing and
whitefeathered,
The peach-cheeked goose-girl
With heavy fertile girth
Trundles him like spring
Rocking, rocking on her
fulcrum.
Somewhere lost fowl
impatiently pace.
No sky.
No moon.
Only grey clouds trouble morning,
And the long unwinking eye
Of the spent and cold-beaked
gander.