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Sunday, February 07, 2010

The Weasel





















This time I have you
I tell myself pouncing
on the tip of your white
weasel’s tail in the snow
who am left with a mouthful
of wiry black hairs
and the line of your pawprints
in that white carpet
telling me where to go.

6 comments:

Tim Kendall said...

That looks like a stoat. Hard to tell the size, admittedly, so it may just about be one of those Scandinavian or North American weasels. I can't speak for them.

Anonymouse said...

'Over the rim of the thrush's nest / The weasel's face, bright as the evening star, / Brings night.'

puthwuth said...

It is stoatally not and you are weaselly deceived.

Лев Грицюк | Lev Hrytsyuk said...

I did a Ukrainian translation of the poem:

http://levhrytsyuk.blogspot.com/2010/02/blog-post_09.html

Best,
Lev Hrytsyuk

puthwuth said...

Spasibo, moy ukraintsi drug.

There's bastardized cyrillics for you.

Seriously though, many thanks.

Winnie the Pooh said...

They're black they're brown
they're up they're down
they're in they're out
they're all about
they're far they're near
they're gone they're here
they're quick and slick and insincere
beware beware of the weasels