(for my 14 year old son)
The voices of the girls are sweet. Their songs
are sinuous; the soft fluttering motions
of their hands are those of butterflies
deciding on which flower to alight.
Your ears are stopped as yet. That spell will break.
Their voices soon will madden and delight.
You'll hear them, see them sporting on the rocks,
and wonder which to dash yourself against.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, David Callin would be
pleased to hear them.