Classic Poem

One part of the sky — blue, another — grey. Between the two on a silver cord there hangs a glowing copper disk besmudged with soot. Trees stand like green lacquered unfolded umbrellas. Leaves — yellow, dried scraps of leather in heaps along the alleys. The air like a gaseous beverage fizzes in the nose. The yellow grass protrudes from the ground like a beard of a ten-weeks' growth. Sickly, white butterflies balance on a low brown shrub, like white stains on the breast of a negress. A cool and stinging breeze murmurs and rustles, as when fingers barely touch the bass string of a harp.