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A.S.J. Tessimond - June Sick Room
Work rating: Medium

The birds` shrill fluting
Beats on the pink blind,
Pierces the pink blind
At whose edge fumble the sun`s
Fingers till one obtrudes
And stirs the thick motes.
The room is a close box of pink warmth.
The minutes click.
A man picks across the street
With a metal-pointed stick.
Three clocks drop each twelve pennies
On the drop of noon.
The birds end.
A child`s cry pricks the hush.
The wind plucks at a leaf.
The birds rebegin.
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