My Heart Does Not Leap
My heart does not leap
when the flower is in bloom,
when the brook is all abubble,
or when a child is in the room.
My heart is not moved
by a bucket, or a bugle blast,
by the sound of cattle lowing,
or by times already past.
My heart does not buy
into this dim and dull dustheap;
my heart has other fish to fry,
and fish, you know, don't keep.
If you have opinions about this poem, J.D.Heskin would be
pleased to hear them.