POETRY: A Magazine of Verse
He sensed cries, faint and clamorous, far behind;
He sensed cool peace, and the buoyant arms of love;
He sensed like a beacon, clear, beckoning, kind,
Five stars, floating above . . .
To the ones who watched it seemed
That he slept . . . and smiled . . . and dreamed.
"And the waters were abated . . . and the dove."
And there I was on that old bridge—boob freshman me on that same bridge!
The lazy river hummed and purred, and sang a sleepy song.
Of course, I know it listens queer, but, gad, it was so real and near,
I stood there basking in the sun for goodness knows how long.
Sometimes I see it even now. I see that little, lean old saint
Put up against the shining spears his simple nerve and pluck:
And once, by Jove, you know, he came right down beside me in the game . . .
We know who made the touchdown then, old John of Nepomuc!
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