Snake by Theodore Roethke

I saw a young snake glide
Out of the mottled shade
And hang, limp on a stone:
A thin mouth, and a tongue
Stayed, in the still air.

It turned; it drew away;
Its shadow bent in half;
It quickened and was gone

I felt my slow blood warm.
I longed to be that thing.
The pure, sensuous form.

And I may be, some time.

by Theodore Roethke

Other poems by 'Theodore Roethke'

Journey Into The Interior

My Papa's Waltz

Root Cellar

The Waking

Elegy For Jane

I Knew A Woman

The Survivor

In A Dark Time

Cuttings

Night Journey