He lingers in the lazy grass
And talks of loneliness with trees,
The clouds pass, and the hours pass;
And far afield he hears the bees.
He sees the wistful moon arise;
He sits and stares, and clasps his knees.
The town cries and the crowd cries,
'I-ll stay with theses, he says 'and these.'
The Bush Lover
Leon Gellert
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Poem topics: moon, grass, town, stay, crowd, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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