The littlest wood-
colored
finch's alighting—there
before me this morning
on the
blue asphalt path—
perhaps may have seemed
at the time
like—the cheapest
or at least
the most-
capricious of gifts
the world-at-large
could possibly
have sent me.
But let me
tell you something—afterward
it sure feels
luxurious
to keep
and
to keep
and to
keep on receiving
the gift
of that image—not to mention
pretty
exceedingly
expensive
to render—with any sort of great
sense
of its bigness
later
on blank paper.