Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in …

Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.

Boris Pasternak