My goldfinch, I'll toss back my head—
My goldfinch, I'll toss back my head—
let's look at the world, you and I:
a wintry day, prickly as stubble,
is it just as rough on your eye?
Tail like a boat, black and gold plumage,
dipped in paint from the beak down—
are you aware, my little goldfinch,
what a goldfinch dandy you are?
What air there is on his forehead:
black and red, yellow and white!—
he keeps a sharp lookout both ways,
won't look now, he's flown out of sight.
December 1936
Structure
13 lines · 3 stanzas