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. The Shape of the Fire
2. The Voice
3. Journey into the Interior
4. She
5. The Visitant

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

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