Vachel Lindsay (Вэчел Линдсей)

* * *

The Moon’s the North Wind’s cooky.
He bites it, day by day,
Until there’s but a rim of scraps
That crumble all away.

The South Wind is a baker.
He kneads clouds in his den,
And bakes a crisp new moon that . . . greedy 
North . . . Wind . . . eats . . . again!

1. The Strength of the Lonely
2. With a Bouquet of Twelve Roses
3. The Master of the Dance
4. St. Francis of Assisi
5. What the Moon Saw

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