It's been a while, so here's a poem I came across in Stephen King's On Writing
, it's by his wife, and novelist, Tabitha King,
A Gradual Canticle for Augustine
The thinnest bear is awakened in winter
by the sleep-laughter of locusts,
by the dream-blustering of bees,
by the honeyed scent of desert sands,
that the wind carries in her womb
into the distant hills, into the houses of Cedar.
The bear has heard a sure promise.
Certain words are edible; they nourish
more than snow heaped upon silver plates
or ice overflowing golden bowls. Chips of ice
from the mouth of a lover are not always better,
Nor a desert dreaming always a mirage.
The rising bear sings a gradual canticle
woven of sand that conquers cities
by a slow cycle. His praise seduces
a passing wind, traveling to the sea
wherein a fish, caught in a careful net,
hears a bear`s song in the cool-scented snow.