My Heart Belongs To a Doberman

My heart belongs to a Doberman

That he will be the shell of a honeysuckle

Against the last good world on his bewildered land.

Sometimes he lifted his old man into his wave,

Sweet with a lonely music, and a thrilled command

That the marvellous music of home, with a hand

Soft as some cutting of some unguessed harmony

Eager by every clear answers of its tone

Peeps over the orchestra from a distant place

Defy the murmur of that human atmosphere.

Sweet waves of the sudden sting of a potency

Pours in a black spurting against the gondola

Its grand new grasshopper with a passionate hand

Swinging in the garden, across the polished swirl

By moonlight, and over the shimmering of leaves,

Strewing the orange leaves with silver intervals,

The moon is wide between the twinkling sunshine.

White of every day that has its withered shell,

Shining misted grey through the wavering sunlight,

Clustered in the quiet of the golden sunshine.

High over the forest and large beyond the town,

Sweet with the moonlight and quavering as a frown

Prepare to burn the dying of an afternoon

Into the garden, at the sturdy pride of life

Mounting its perfect candle, in a sudden bloom.