The Pike’s Song

From his hole so wet and drenching

a pike rose up to tree to sing

 

when through the greyish net of clouds

first gleam of day was seen

and at the lake the lapping waves

woke up with joyous mean

the pike rose to the spruce’s crone

to take a bite at reddish cone

he may have seen or heard, or smelled

or learned by taste of cone

the dew-wet glory, untold yet

of that morning-hour

opening his

            mouth so bony

            sidewise moving

            the jawbone phony

 

intoned a hymn

so wild-and-heavy

that birds fell silent

immediately

as if overcome by

the waters’ weight

and lonesomeness’

cold embrace.

AARO HELLAAKOSKI

1927