A Wreath to the Fish

Who is this fish, still wearing its wealth,
flat on my drainboard, dead asleep,
its suit of mail proof only against the stream?
What is it to live in a stream,
to dwell forever in a tunnel of cold,
never to leave your shining birthsuit,
never to spend your inheritance of thin coins?

Nancy Willard at Poetry Foundation

Tad Richards on Nancy Willard

Willard's is a poetry of continuum. With grace, wit, and close observation, she bridges the distinction between children's and adult literature, between humans and angels, between the literal and the fabulous.

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