Lesson behind the leaf-curtain
Closed
now the school, where each day nightingales
rehearse
songs of which only an awakening love
will
later teach them mastery.
The
birds are trapped behind a slanting needle grating,
their
wings folded against the rain.
The
drops glisten, hit the foliage and earth in icy stabs
or
trickle down the window, hour by hour.
The
drops strike the roof-top, colouring the notes
that
sing within, behind the temples -
the
hours all wound; the last is deadly.
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