From whence arrived the praying mantis? From outer space, or lost Atlantis? I glimpse the grim, green metal mug That masks this pseudo-saintly bug, Orthopterous, also carnivorous, And faintly whisper, Lord deliver us.
Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold, Death’s great black wing scrapes the air, Misery gnaws to the bone. Why then do we not despair? By day, from the surrounding woods, Cherries blow summer into town; At night the deep transparent skies Glitter with new galaxies. And the miraculous comes so close To the ruined, dirty houses— Something not known to anyone at all, But wild in our breast for centuries.
Now the day is done, Now the shepherd sun Drives his white flocks from the sky; Now the flowers rest On their mother’s breast, Hushed by her low lullaby.
Now the glowworms glance, Now the fireflies dance, Under fern-boughs green and high; And the western breeze To the forest trees Chants a tuneful lullaby.
Now ‘mid shadows deep Falls blessed sleep, Like dew from the summer sky; And the whole earth dreams, In the moon’s soft beams, While night breathes a lullaby.
Now, birdlings, rest, In your wind-rocked nest, Unscared by the owl’s shrill cry; For with folded wings Little Brier swings, And singeth your lullaby.