Of the light in my room: Its mood swings, Dark-morning glooms, Summer ecstasies. Spider on the wall, Lamp burning late, Shoes left by the bed, I'm your humble scribe. Dust balls, simple souls Conferring in the corner. The pearl earring she lost, Still to be found. Silence of falling snow, Night vanishing without trace, Only to return. I'm your humble scribe.

From That Little Something by Charles Simic. Copyright © 2008 by Charles Simic. Reprinted by permission of Harcourt. All rights reserved.

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Poems by This Author

Country Fair by Charles Simic If you didn't see the six-legged dog, Eyes Fastened With Pins by Charles Simic How much death works, In the Library by Charles Simic There's a book called Late September by Charles Simic The mail truck goes down the coast My Shoes by Charles Simic Shoes, secret face of my inner life On this Very Street in Belgrade by Charles Simic Pigeons at Dawn by Charles Simic Extraordinary efforts are being made Read Your Fate by Charles Simic A world's disappearing. Riddle by Charles Simic The Initiate by Charles Simic St. John of the Cross wore dark glasses The Something by Charles Simic Here come my night thoughts The White Room by Charles Simic The obvious is difficult This Morning by Charles Simic Enter without knocking, hard-working ant. Watermelons by Charles Simic Green Buddhas