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.

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