Poem by Theodore Roethke

Snake

I saw a young snake glide
Out of the mottled shade
And hang, limp on a stone:
A thin mouth, and a tongue
Stayed, in the still air.

It turned; it drew away;
Its shadow bent in half;
It quickened and was gone

I felt my slow blood warm.
I longed to be that thing.
The pure, sensuous form.

And I may be, some time.

1. Child on Top of a Greenhouse
2. Journey into the Interior
3. The Voice
4. Once More, the Round
5. The Shape of the Fire

David Lawrence Snake ("A snake came to my water-trough")

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