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Monday, November 5, 2012

The Banyan Tree, Old Year's Night By Derek Walcott





In the damp park, no larger than a stamp,
The rainbow bulbs of the year's end are looped.
To link the withered fountain, and each lamp
flickers like echoes where small savages whooped.
.
The square was this town's center, but its spokes
burn like a petered pinwheel of dead streets,
Turning in mind the squibs of boyish jokes,
Candy-striped innocents and sticky sweets.
.
Soaring from littered roots, blackened with rain,
With inaccessible arms the banyan tree
Heavens in the year's last drizzle to explain.
What age could not, responsibility?


Banyan Tree

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