The Fledgling

Iris Barry

POEMS

                 THE FLEDGLING
         The fire is nearly out,
       The lamp is nearly out.
       The room is untidy after the long day.
       I am here, unhappy,
       Longing to leave the hearth,
       Longing to escape from the home.
       The others are asleep,
       But I am here, unhappy.
       The fire is nearly out,
       The lamp is nearly out.

                  IMPRESSION
         The orchards are white again . . .
       There was one I knew
       Whose body was white as they: fairer.

       Alas! that we drifted apart
       Faster than pear-petals fall to the ground!

                     STUDY
Oh carrot cat, slinking over the snow,
Your skin is blue, where the bitter wind ruffles your fur.
Can you not find one shivering sparrow in all this white
   world?