my thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
my tears like vinegar,
or the sour blinking yellow
of a jaundiced star.
tonight the caustic wind, love,
gossips late and soon,
and I wear the wry-faced pucker of
the lemon-colored moon.
while like an early summer plum,
puny, green, and tart,
droops upon its wizened stem
my gaunt, unriped heart.