Busker with Harp

For a birth

The fact of the harp swells into the air,
Alien and familiar and entirely too large,
An elephant lost in the suburbs,
And opens with its cry a strange passage

Between the harp itself, the fragile harp,
And the almost guilty knowledge
Of   the stroke of   luck that brought it here
And the care with which it must depart.

More Poems by David Orr