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Sappho, v. 1 issue 1, June 1943
Page 8
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CHAOS Dry leaves On concrete. Cold, dirty Concrete. Whispering. . . In a lonesome breeze. And my thoughts, Like dry leaves Whisper Through my brain. Swung by a sordid wind-- Bound by no pattern, they Whisper. . . And pale image froth Spawns from the Lamplight To feast upon my mind. While a bored moon Sweeps the earth With flaccid light My thoughts are Whispering Dry leaves. --ARTHUR KENNEDY.
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CHAOS Dry leaves On concrete. Cold, dirty Concrete. Whispering. . . In a lonesome breeze. And my thoughts, Like dry leaves Whisper Through my brain. Swung by a sordid wind-- Bound by no pattern, they Whisper. . . And pale image froth Spawns from the Lamplight To feast upon my mind. While a bored moon Sweeps the earth With flaccid light My thoughts are Whispering Dry leaves. --ARTHUR KENNEDY.
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